Red Windmills
by StormsInNeverland
Summary: Kurt Hummel had always been good at running away. And Noah? ..Noah had always been good at chasing him, to the ends of the earth if he had to.
1. Arrival

**Title: Red Windmills**

**Summary: Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...  
><strong>

**Pairings: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. I just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...]  
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**Warnings: Well, none for this chapter, but this will feature violence - physical and sexual - naughty language, sexual scenes of both consensual and non-consensual nature (nothing too graphic), homosexual relations (homophobes can happily f**k right off), hate crime, maybe more depending on how the story goes. Oh, yes, and angst. Lotsa, lotsa angst. Don't worry, there's happiness, too...sometimes. Rating may well change.  
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Red Windmills

1) Arrival

For a guy who spent his childhood and teenage years idealising the moment he would finally escape the stifling confines of Lima's borders, Noah Puckerman was uncommonly uncomfortable with visiting new places.

In one hand, muscles twitching with the strain, he held three bags stuffed with assorted items of necessity, clothes and photos and even a few books, while in the other he held a crumpled piece of paper, his own spidery writing scrawled across three lines. Over his back he had slung his guitar, and it bounced awkwardly against his spine.

This, however, was the least of his problems.

He squinted at street names and muttered half-hearted apologies as he bumped into every other stranger he passed, attention on his destination and not his current situation. He was beginning to doubt Santana's sincerity, perhaps his entire friendship with her.

The girl had assured him that, while visiting a cousin in busy old Chicago, she had seen him.

_Him_.

Allegedly she'd watched him serve drinks and smile and flirt and wiggle his hips as he crossed the room to help a customer with their luggage. A quaint bistro, she'd said. Well, in all honesty she'd used words closer to _shitty little bar and food joint_, but to Ms Lopez it meant the same thing, and Noah, after years of practice, had grown to understand his favourite lesbian Latina's way of speaking.

Not that it mattered. All that mattered was the thought of _him_.

No, not him. _Answers_. That was all Noah needed.

His fingers gripped the paper tightly, folding another few creases into the greyish page as he peered across the road to a row of shops, all high street brands with windows full of pouty model photos and cheap clothes that screamed end-of-summer sale.

It was growing dark by now, the young man had been walking for over an hour and he'd never felt more hopeless than as he stood briefly still, inhaling the scent of a smoky city, relishing the symphony that signalled another Saturday night on the streets of a big city. He could feel the promise of alcohol and laughter quivering in the air. It was the same everywhere. With people came socialising, and with socialising came celebrating. Even in Lima, a prison cell that the devil himself considered lowlife, Friday and Saturday nights became just that bit more interesting than any other time of the week. Noah smiled at the thought of dropping his belongings at the first chance and giving up his search for the night, instead simply heading to the nearest bar and sitting with only his ego and whiskey for company for a few hours.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

But no, he shook his head, pushing onwards through the darkening streets of this new, alien city. He had to keep looking. And if he didn't find him? Well, he'd have to check into a hotel and try again the next day.

His feet dragged along the pavement, purposefully slowing outside every open door, every flashing neon light. Noah found himself reading the names as he passed: Flares, Razzles, Vistra, Club Caesar, Bar 69. He grinned at some of them, winced at others, and a couple he even hurried past, not wanting to linger outside their doors. His inner badass scowled at such cowardly behaviour, but he ignored his subconscious. It wasn't his fault if he didn't like sleazy under-the-radar pits of hell disguised as 'clubs'.

His bags were weighty in his hand; he could have sworn they were heavier than they had been when he first packed them, vacating the shabby Philadelphia motel that had been his home for the past few months. He longed for that sit down, for that whisky, for that one long night of steady drink and steady comfort. He hadn't simply _gone out_ in so long...

If he hadn't been so desperate for that drink, he probably wouldn't have paid attention to the dark doorwayed building that fate presented him with. As it was, he stared intently at every poster, every window, every door, trying to find an excuse to stop, and, staring momentarily at a large oil pastel effect poster, he saw something quite incredible. The picture was a swirl of colours. The name _Red Miller _had been painted above the images, which merged and clashed brightly into an attractive eye-catcher. Its images showed busty girls wrapped around muscular men, bright dresses of every hue shining into the almost-night dim that now gripped Chicago city. And in the bottom left hand corner was a picture, fake pastel and oil like the others, of a young man mid twirl, as if half way through a elegant pirouette. His slender arms curved gracefully, the skin painted pale but for a rough staining blush in his cheeks that made him look alive, and his eyes were simply quick, sharp specks of blue half hidden behind strands of a dark brown that fell like post-sex bed hair into his face.

Noah felt his fingers twitch and it was all he could do to keep from dropping his bags there and then.

He stepped back so as to take in the building as a whole. It was devoid of all signs but for the poster on the door and a bright flaring notice that glowed _Red Miller _beneath the windows of the upper storeys. It was a curious place, invitingly mysterious without the usual bouncers and doormen flanking the entrance.

With little to lose, Noah took a deep breath and stepped towards the door. Before he could reach out to give it a testing push, however, it opened seemingly of its own accord. He froze, spooked by the sudden movement, until a man appeared in the doorway.

"Going to stand there all night, are we, sonny?" the man asked with a dark grin that, though not intimidating, did remove the younger man's urge to smirk and retort snidely. Noah shrugged, hoisting his guitar higher over his shoulder and scrunching his paper into his pocket. "Get in, before you fall over." The man was older than Noah by a good fifteen years at least. His dark hair was slicked back with enough grease to remind Noah of his old glee teacher, and the man's warm eyes took in the sight of the heavily burdened customer with a mixture of amusement and unease.

"Thanks," Noah muttered as an afterthought.

"Take it you're not a member, then?"

Noah looked to the doorman, whose nametag read _Jay_, with confusion. It was only the silence as he shook his head that he heard the muffled sound of a jazz band of some kind coming from down the stairs, the clink of glasses and tinkering of babble joining the lullaby. The corridor he found himself in was cramped, a desk shoved into a corner, covered in papers, and above it a large, faded poster of Liza Minnelli beside a blown up photo of Audrey Hepburn.

"Well, it's twenty bucks if you want to go any further.

"Twenty?" Noah cried, outraged. "Like hell I'm going to pay-"

"For that you'll get your first two drinks free, as well," Jay added with a sly grin, hand already held out, as if he knew Noah's decision.

It didn't take long for the last beloved twenty dollar bill in Noah Puckerman's wallet to be stuffed happily in doorman Jay's front pocket, as the weary traveller, his bags stowed in a closet with the promise they'd be taken care of, jogging eagerly down the steps towards he now realised to be some form of burlesque lounge.

Chairs and tables and couches and stools filled the majority of the floor space, and a large bar that ran the length of the room had been fitted into a wall painted dark red to match the majority of the lighting. Smoke filled the underground air with a haze that, mixed with the scent of desire and alcohol, went straight to Noah's head, and it wasn't long before he was sitting comfortably on a stool at the bar, three feet away from a beautiful young waitress with curly blonde locks and an angelically featured face that screamed _nose_ _job!_, a glass of burning amber liquid in one hand and his second free drink ticket in the other. The air was filled with laughter and chatter, the lively jazz music merely background noise provided loose tie tuxedoed men and cocktail dress wearing women.

Noah had always been happy enough by himself. He had found at a young age that he liked people. Moreover, he liked watching people. He took a sip of whiskey, whistling through his teeth as it slipped hot and heavy down his welcoming throat, and leaned over the bar towards the pretty girl.

"I'm Puck!" he raised his voice louder than usual, wanting to be heard over the volume of the very air around them.

"I'm Carley!" she shouted back with a grin as she placed one of the large vodka bottles back in its rightful place on the shelf. "And I have a boyfriend!" she added, one eyebrow quirked. Noah smirked, already glad he'd entered, his reason for doing so almost forgotten, the painting he'd initially noticed out of his head.

"So do I!" he bellowed, and for a moment Carley paused, before she noticed his lips twitch as he fought back a chuckle. Realising his lie, she rolled her eyes and began wiping glasses before putting them away.

"Funny guy, are you?" she commented, not really needing an answer, but Noah, being the gentleman he was, provided one anyway.

"Always, sweetheart." He winked, and though she blushed lightly, Carley remained uninterested.

It was only once Noah's eyes strayed from the blonde's cleavage to the stage that he remembered why he had decided to enter the joint at all; the same reason he'd travelled all the way to Chicago, of all places, on that September day.

A slight girl with raven hair and a high cheekboned face had taken to the stage, her eyes on the band, and she licked her red, red lips once before belting out a long, powerful note that had Noah fleetingly recalling a curvy girl with cocoa skin and enough attitude for the rest of her schoolmates put together, a girl he'd known - quite well, in fact - during his high school years. Behind her a row of dancers swayed to the beat of the percussion instruments that set the tempo of the song, the women sporting mini top hats which matched their corset and mini-shorts outfits, the men in open tuxedoes, their ties undone. All faces but for the soloist's were shadowed in darkness, but before the girl had ran out of breath on her first note they stepped forwards, and it took precisely three and a half seconds for Noah Puckerman to momentarily forget how to breathe.

The song was foreign to him, but he didn't care for it. He watched, rather than listened, and his eyes never left one face. A pale face that blushed crimson under the lights.

In his younger years Noah would have been humiliated at the possibility of someone catching him staring at a boy, particularly when there were so many beautiful women around him, but times had changed. At twenty-two years of age, the Puckerman hooligan had learned better than to rely only on what people thought of him.

He stared unabashed at the face he'd thought of with regret and anger for years.

He was sure the young man had felt his stare, because his eyes would flit to the bar every few seconds, never quite reaching Noah but always searching in his direction. He grinned at the thought, smiling painfully as he hid the sudden urge to run onto the stage and beat some sense into the performer as he stood between two fellows, a girl in front of him and a boy behind him, all grinding in unison as they cast flirty gazes to their captivated audience and sang underneath the soloist's potent notes. With difficulty he beat down the urge to burst into a fit of rage, or of hysteria, or of just plain old tears.

He stared unabashed into the face of Kurt Hummel.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews are rewarded with authors' love, virtual lollipops and hugs. We hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Honestly, it picks up next chapter...<strong>

**Stormy and Pan (a.k.a. Sally and Kyle) xx xx**


	2. Remember Me?

**Title: Red Windmills**

**Summary: Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...  
><strong>

**Pairings: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...]  
><strong>

****Chapter Warnings: Offensive language  
><strong>**

**Thank you so much, guys! Great alert/favourite response so far, but special thanks to Rainbowbrite006, Mischievous Gleek, and dannaann55 for your sexy reviews. (Sorry, Kyle likes describing things as sexy, the idiot). Also, thanks to CyTonicKy and jcarol555 for pointing out the atrocious problem with the italics of this chapter. To introduce! We are SiN a.k.a StormsInNeverland. In real life, just plain ol' Sally and Kyle. We love you all lots. We reward reviews with hugs and love.**

**Also, yes, Puck and Kurt have a very strange friendship that will be explained in time. _Italics are flashback scenes._  
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2) Remember me?

"My, my, my…Noah Puckerman, this is an honour."

He had been sitting for over an hour by the time the first act of the night ended. Somehow his self control extended to the point that he was still only nursing his third glass of…whatever it was he had ordered, he couldn't remember, it had been left ignored for so long. Noah had clapped half heartedly at every song, every particularly impressive, bellowed note, every complex stunt performed by the dancers. But in truth, he clapped for only one person, there was no sense in denying it.

And now, soft, lulling Bing Cosby style music mingling with the voices of the customers, he found himself looking into that china doll face.

"Kurt," he muttered quietly, more to himself than to the young man sitting on the bar in front of him. "Or should I say _Porcelain_?" He asked darkly, indicating the word which he now realised had been embroidered into the diva's silky shirt. With a bubbly laugh that Noah could not recall ever hearing before, Kurt swung his legs over the dark, polished wood of the bar and began rooting through the bottles below, getting in the way of the two bar girls, both of whom were forced to shuffle and leap around him to serve their shamelessly flirty customers.

"Drink?" Kurt asked brightly, uncorking what looked like an expensive red wine that was highly out of place among the cocktails and shots. "S'on the house," he shrugged, pouring two glasses despite the insistent way Noah shook his head.

Unsure of what to say, the ex-jock revelled in the wonder of watching Kurt Hummel, of all people, chug down a glass of red wine like water to parched beggar.

"How'd you find me, then?" He could have sounded angry, even embarrassed, but he seemed curious. Plain and simple human curiosity. When was Kurt ever idly curious? Such thoughts hurt Noah's alcohol misted brain.

"I have my sources," the older man replied, tapping his temple and taking a sip of the glass Kurt handed him, his old drink forgotten.

"Santana squealed, didn't she? Bitch," Kurt snapped, and for a brief moment he really did look angry. His crystal eyes flashed into pure ice queen mode as he glared at his empty glass before sliding it down the counter towards Carley, who looked glad of the distraction so as to get away from the leering man leaning disconcertingly over the bar to whisper what he no doubt considered to be _sweet __nothings _in her unwilling ear.

"Santana _talked _to you?" Noah cried, his grip on his drink slipping, and some of its dark contents spilled onto his ratty jeans. "She said she only saw you through a window, and that you were a _waiter_, dude!"

Both paused for the briefest of moments, allowing their imaginations to take them back several years, and for seventeen year old Kurt Hummel to glower and snap _don't__ call__ me__ dude,__ princess_. And also, for the briefest of moments they both almost smiled, before Noah's lips twisted into the look he'd grown most accustomed to, hovering between a smirk and a grimace, his honeyed eyes downcast, while Kurt's closed his icy walls around himself, leaving a blank face of pale skin and cool eyes that pierced the smoky air.

"I can have two jobs, can't I?" Kurt asked, words so heavy with sarcasm they fell like physical barriers between the old friends.

"Waiter by day…"

"_Performer_ by night," Kurt finished for him in his snarkiest voice before his companion could dare attempt a more demeaning job description. He felt Carley's eyes on them, and he knew to an outsider their banter would seem antagonistic, maybe even hostile. Still, he dismissed her concerned watchfulness, and through his ice queen walls he drank in the sight of one Noah Puckerman.

There were no real surprises, it was true.

Noah's smirk creases along the sides of his mouth had deepened from overuse, and his brow, constantly knitted together as a teenager, seemed fixed in a permanent half-scowl. But he hadn't laughed, yet, and Kurt knew without having to be told that when he laughed, it was still be a _Puck_ laugh, husky and warm, bordering on hysterical if it outgrew a chuckle. His mohawk was a little longer than he'd worn it during high school, but he carried his head the same way, tilted in a perpetual challenge to any onlookers, and he held his semi-clenched fists the same way, casually ready to embrace or to strike.

He almost reached out to accept the friendlier gesture, to welcome those _guns_the boy had always been so proud of, but instead, Kurt Hummel refused to back down. Winking at a group of young men and women sat watching his every move, recognising him from the stage, his charm was saved for all but his conversation.

"Are you here for a reason, then, Noah? Or are you just going to ogle at me and all the bar girls for the rest of the night?"

Noah started, somewhat affronted at the accusation. He was certain he hadn't been ogling at anyone.

"That's all you have to say to me?" he asked dully, and melted honey eyes hardened as he glared coldly at Kurt, whose bored expression revealed nothing. "Four and a half years on, and you have nothing else to say?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, picking at his cuticles and frowning as he noticed a smudge in his manicure before sighing deeply. "What else do you want, Noah?" he asked, for the first time sounding almost weak, and even then his defensiveness cut like a blade slicing cocktail lemons, tainted with sour acid. "A hug? A kiss? Lots of tears and sobbing and a big confession that I was lying in high school, the truth is I'm madly in love with you and couldn't bear the heartbreak of falling for a hot straight jock?" Kurt snorted derisively before Noah could correct him, shaking his head at the man.

And there he saw the change in Noah Puckerman. Once he'd have been able to beat the boy down with his words, and by now seventeen year old Noah would have been bowing his head in embarrassed shame as Kurt sneered arrogantly down his nose.

But no, there would be no head bowing for Noah tonight.

He looked disappointed.

Not even that, Kurt realised as a flutter of flesh eating butterflies chewed at his stomach. His gaze held no more wonder, or interest, or caring; he looked…disgusted. Noah was disgusted by him.

It hurt more than Kurt would ever have let on.

"Look at you," Noah shook his head slowly, his shoulders submissively slumped in defeat and every soft line in his face pulling downwards in a sadness that could not be reflected in tears, because it seemed Noah had none to shed. And this, Kurt felt with a pang, was a painful realisation, too.

Noah looked upon him with nothing but disgust, and for a single second - no more than that, but still one second too many - years of friendship and regret and support just disintegrated, and once more they were two boys, two polar extremes, battling for reign in a world that neither would ever rule.

**RWRWRW**

_"Now, boys, I know you're both probably under a lot of stress right now. If school work is getting too much for you, I'm sure your teachers cou-"_

_"Oh __yes,__ Puckerman,__ your __precious _God forbid _you __fall __behind__ in __your __studies __because __you've __been__ scared __in to __recluse __by __your __frighteningly __impressive __degree__ of __homophobia-"_

_"Homophobia is such a stupid name, like I'd be scared of a queer like you, Hummel. You're nothing but-"_

_"How __about _homohatred_,__ then, __Puckerman? __Or __perhaps-"_

_"Perhaps__ just __plain __old _homo I will beat the fag out of you unless you_-"_

_"Gentleman, please!"_

_Emma__ Pillsbury__ was__ not __fond __of __conflict. __She__ surveyed __the__ two__ boys __before __her __with __tortured __discomfort. __All __she __wanted __to __do __was __knock __their __heads__ together __and __tell __them __to _just get on! _but__ no,__ it__ wasn't__ that__ simple._

_Glad to be sat behind her desk, she relished in the silence as Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman glared a thousand slow and excruciating deaths into one another's eyes._

_Kurt looked perfectly at ease, his arrogance radiating from him as he perched cross-legged on the edge of his chair, as if mimicking a nineteen-thirties Hollywood starlet. His smooth hair was tucked and sprayed neatly behind ears that were blushing an embarrassed crimson to match his cheeks. Apart from his eyes, only his hands revealed his true displeasure, clasped in a vice like grip on his lap as they were._

_Noah's posture spoke volumes, leaning away from the back of his chair to rest his elbows on his knees, his guitar-string calloused fingers flexing and knotting together in nervous frustration, as if subconsciously imagining they were wrapping tightly around the smaller boy's throat._

_"Now, boys, if we could just remain civil, I'm sure we'll be able to come to some sort of-"_

_"Civil?" Kurt shrieked, losing his statuesque form to gesture angrily with his hand. "This Neanderthal couldn't be civil if you pointed a loaded gun to that meathead of his!" Noah's fingers twitched convulsively, but he remained surprisingly silent. "He's the one that needs talking to, not me! I'm not the one throwing slushies and pushing people in corridors and throwing them in dumpsters and knocking up Cheerios!"_

_"_Don't _go __there, __Hummel!"__ Noah __leapt __to __his __feet, __thrusting __a __finger__ into __Kurt's __scowling__ face __as __he__ roared __louder __than__ ever.__ "Don't __you _dare _go __there!"_

_Emma __flinched __at __the __volume, __standing__ shakily __on __her __prim __heeled __shoes __to __wave __a__ hand __and __murmur _Boys! Boys! _in__ her__ mousy__ voice, __but__ the__ two__ sophomores__ had__ all__ but__ forgotten __her__ presence__ as__ they__ stood__ inches__ apart__ bellowing__ at__ one __another._

_Before she could panic, however, the two voices paused. Perhaps they had run out of breath, or energy, or words. Their breaths seemed to echo and resound like two snorting bulls, Noah glaring down at the boy, who though tall himself, seemed to shrink in stature next to the footballer._

_What happened next Emma was not sure she could even say she witnessed, it happened so fast; one moment Kurt's open palm was raised to strike Noah's the cheek, and the next the jock was holding the diva by the wrist, throwing him to the ground._

_"Keep your faggoty hands off me, Queerio!" _

_He sneered down at the boy's red and white uniform, and despite the young, redheaded guidance councillor's protests, he stormed out into the hallway. Kurt paused only long enough to stand, straighten his cheerleading outfit, run a hand over the sides of his slightly ruffled hair, and with a long glance at Miss Pillsbury he stalked away._

_Emma despairingly brought her hands to her face and trembled into them. How on earth was she supposed to keep this job when she couldn't even make two fellow Glee clubbers get along?_

**RWRWRW**

"So, who's the eyecandy, sweetheart?" Georgie Eccles, better known in Red Windmills as the typically named Baby G, giggled as she reached past Kurt to snatch a blue bodice hanging from the rail behind him. Automatically he stood, undone laces ignored, to help her wriggle into her costume, tying the intricate knots as if it were a born skill and straightening the bows until they were symmetrical.

As he worked at her corset he sighed with a cynical grin.

"Oh, an old friend," he bit his lip, sneaking a peek past the dropped curtain they were hiding behind to spot Noah sipping at a bourbon, though clearly more out of habit than a desire for alcohol.

"An old _friend_," she quirked her brow, eyeing him over her shoulder and pressing her slender backside briefly into his groin. He slapped her away with a friendly squeeze, kissing her bare collarbone.

"It's…complicated," Kurt admitted with a slight blush of disappointment.

He wanted to be surprised to see Noah. Almost as much as he wanted to feel disappointed. The truth was that he was neither. He had always known his ex-bully would find him one day, and he had always known, in the darkest corner of his heart he dared not approach, that he _wanted_to be found.

Not saved. Kurt Hummel was no damsel in distress, and hell! He didn't _need_saving. He did, however, need to be found.

And not for the first time, Noah was the one to do just that.

"Oh really? Sounds like some deeply unresolved issues that will have to be sorted after the show tonight, to me." Georgie wiggled her bum at Kurt once more before turning to tie his laces while he fixed the eyeliner sticking his lashes together.

"No, Baby," Kurt grumbled, suddenly tired of the conversation. Or perhaps uncomfortable and unwilling to admit it. "There will be no issue resolving after the show tonight. He'll probably be gone by then anyway. I hope so." He added the final phrase as an afterthought, and even in his head it didn't sound convincing.

He ignored the sulky pout the curvy redhead threw him.

He tried not to think about the tall, hunky man waiting (for him? Surely not…) at the bar on the other side of the curtain. He tried not to figure out why Noah (_Puck_, he corrected himself forcefully, frowning at the floor) would choose now to visit him, not sooner, not in ten years. He tried not to close his eyes and imagine a tall frame encasing his slender one, reminding him of safety and friendship and love in a way Finn, his own stepbrother, had never quite managed to achieve.

But, of course, like the big red button that says _Don't__ Push_, the more he tried not to think, figure out, imagine, the more he found himself doing exactly that.

Because this wasn't Finn, with his dorky smile and his puppy eyed slouching ways. This wasn't Mercedes, bubbly and eager for gossip. And this certainly wasn't Rachel, nosy and analytical and distinctly superior.

This was Noah, and whatever the unspoken pain and broken promises that had kept them apart for almost half a decade, Kurt knew his bully, his best friend, deserved something more than a flirty wave and a free drink. He owed him that, at least.


	3. Just One Night

**Title: Red Windmills**

**Summary: Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...  
><strong>

**Pairings: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...]  
><strong>

****Chapter Warnings: Offensive language  
><strong>**

**Thank you so much, guys! Great alert/favourite response, but particular thanks to Rainbowbrite006, **** CyTonicKy and jcarol555 ****for your sexy reviews. (Sorry, Kyle likes describing things as sexy, the idiot). We reward reviews with hugs and love. Please drop us a line! Sally & Kyle xx  
><strong>

**_Italics are flashback scenes. Confusions will be explained in later chapters, and pace will pick up soon! Still on the groundwork, unfortunately.  
><em>**

3) Just One Night

_It took too long for the door to be answered. Far too long._

_Hesitating, Noah reached up and rapped on the door again, three sharp pains to his knuckles as they hit the solid frame. He scowled at the patter-patter of someone jogging down the hall, only to hasten away, and through the door he could hear a mutter of "Keys!". He rolled his eyes, leaning back into his hips as he sighed dramatically. It was cold in the fresh November breeze and he was getting impatient._

_Finally, finally! The door swung open to reveal a red faced Carol Hudson-Hummel, who surveyed the boy through puffy eyes before grabbing him by his shirt and hauling him into the house. Noah followed, bewildered but silent, as Carol pulled him through the hallway and into the living room, where played a muted TV, and in the corner sat Finn, who didn't acknowledge the arrival of his friend, continuing to stare listlessly at a football rerun; it was clear, however, that his attention, wherever it was, was not on the players._

_"Carol…what-" Noah began in a stuttering mumble. He noticed the woman's hand release him from an iron grasp, only to rub over his bicep and shoulder in a comforting gesture._

_If only he knew what she was comforting him about!_

_"Noah, we need to talk," she said quietly. Her voice was dry and raspy; the boy glanced nervously at Finn, who seemed to be listening, but still his angry red-rimmed eyes didn't leave the screen._

_"Where's-"_

_"He's gone, Noah," Carol said firmly. It was as if she was telling herself as much as the boy whose shoulder she was rubbing softly._

_He laughed, and it was an anxious laugh, a tickle in the back of his throat, nothing more; he swallowed in discomfort. When did the room get so hot? His shuddering breath broke the silence, followed by his voice._

_"What do you mean, gone?"_

_Maybe he was out buying milk. That was a reasonable explanation, right?_

_"He left, Noah. Packed his bags in the night and left."_

_He was starting to tremble all over, his skin prickling and his eyes burning hotter than his throat, out of which there ripped a gasping gulping choke. "No," he snapped, and he realised now that Finn was right, that football game sure was interesting; he followed the overly tall teen's example and began to stare at it as he spoke. "Where did he go? He's just - he'll be going to - he'll be back - I just - I was going to - I mean-"_

_He held back the sob until Carol pulled him close, burying his face into her neck. He could feel tension knots forming in his back muscles, tighter than his clenched fists, tighter than the embrace his almost-second-mother held him in. The words he cried aloud were lost into her collarbone for a few seconds, before the gush of adrenaline coursing through him wrenched him out of her loving hands._

_He stood panicked, eyes roaming across the room, and he darted away, his feet taking him to where he needed to be. He paid no heed to the shouts of his name as he ran down the steps that led to the one room in the house he'd once have been embarrassed to enter, and had grown to be a safe haven from reality._

_At a glance it appeared Kurt's basement was the same, but Noah could see the differences. Several photos once pinned to his notice board were missing; the Cheerios outfit that usually hung in pride of place in front of his largest wardrobe had vanished, along with several books that had once gathered no dust at his bedside table. The CD collection was depleted, and pulling open the top of the chest of drawers, Noah found Kurt's clothes selection to also have shrunk._

_He'd felt such fear a few times before. The fear that had taken a few minutes to settle in, as the denial wore away, left behind unadulterated hysteria. A hysteria that he could feel wrapping around his heart, his lungs, his stomach…he turned to flee from the room, the house, the town if he had to, but at the bottom of the stairs he ran headfirst into a wall._

_No, not a wall. Finn._

_It seemed the tall Quarterback had finally given up his attempt to be interested in anything other than his missing stepbrother, and the moment his friend collided with him, his arms wrapped around the smaller jock tightly, squeezing every sob from him and returning with half formed words that ghosted his lips._

_Noah fisted Finn's shirt, pulling and stretching the material as he hid from the world. He bellowed fiercely into Finn's chest, and he found himself hating the soft padded torso, wishing for the comfort of a slighter friend, scrawnier and breakable, and it only made the reality of the situation more painful. His knees were starting to give out, and he thought maybe Finn's were, too. That would explain why they were slowly tumbling to kneel on the ground. His words were muffled and he found himself pushing Finn away, desperate to stand. He panted with the effort, stumbling backwards when his friend was forced to release him._

_"We have to find him, he won't be far, we can just-" He didn't hear Finn's shouts of _Puck! _and Carol's pleas of _Noah, please, you have to understand-_ he only heard the emptiness of Kurt Hummel's absence._

_"Noah!" Carol had pushed aside her son to shake Noah, concerned he would start to hyperventilate if he didn't calm down. She kept her tears away, but the remains of her own grieving had left her face blotchy and damp. She pushed him down to sit on a chair, and Noah wanted nothing more than to leap right of it again - this was Kurt's chair! But she held him steadfast, and like his anchor she kept him rooted, safe._

_"Kurt wouldn't-"_

_"Noah, I know this is hard, but-"_

_"Why aren't you looking for him?" Noah screamed at her, aware she was only inches from him, zoning out Finn's confused orders to not yell at his mother._

_"I am doing everything I can, Noah!" Carol pleaded, and Noah regarded the guilty glint in her eye with suspicion, hating her as much as she hated herself for what had happened to her stepson. "Please, he wouldn't want us to fight like this. He loved us too much to want-"_

_"No," the boy interrupted. The coldness seemed to radiate from him, and Carol let go. She stepped closer to her son, whose gorilla length arms swung over her shoulders to hold her close, in need of comfort. Noah stared up at them, fighting against the hurt that threatened to burst from him again in a fit of raging agony. "He didn't."_

_He wasn't sure how he stayed so silent after that. He impressed himself with his willpower as he stalked past the woman and her son, both calling for him, both…needing him? Perhaps_

_He didn't care.._

_He didn't speak as he walked out of the house, as he drove home, as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. And like Carol Hudson, he ignored his own mother's voice which carried softly, warmly, enquiringly through the house, _What'swrong_, _sweetheart_? and his silence spoke volumes enough for her to know not to follow him._

_He stayed silent as he crawled into bed, under the covers. He stayed silent as he flicked through his phone contacts, and as the beep-beeps rang hauntingly in his ear._

_He even stayed silent as that voice, that damned annoying, whiny, bitchy voice spoke condescendingly into his ear._

_"This is Kurt, if you're worth talking to I'll get back to you when I can be bothered. Leave a message if you must."_

_He didn't bother with a message._

_Phone off, he stared at it for only a second before flinging it hard at the wall, and as it shattered into pieces he felt all the affection, all the love and friendship and caring, break alongside it. And like the irreparable phone at the other side of the room, Noah Puckerman knew he had no intentions of ever fixing whatever messed up friendship Kurt had broken with him when he decided to leave. He drifted to sleep with one thought playing over and over in his head._

_This is why it's better to not care._

**RWRWRW**

It had seemed as if the night would never end.

Drinking at an alarmingly slow rate, Noah still managed to sink another five bourbons by the time the acts were finished for the night, along with an indeterminable number of tequilas, half of which he was pretty sure Carley had paid for herself from behind the bar just to keep him quiet as he grumbled about attention seeking burlesque performers being incredibly unjust strippers, teasing but never coming up with the goods.

After an age, it seemed, Kurt appeared from the side of the stage looking flustered and ready to head home. In his hand he gripped a bulky bag, out of one side of which something questionably sparkly and pink was hanging, most likely a scarf. Despite his misty eyed stupor, Noah snatched the bag from the smaller man's arms and lugged it by his side, dragging Kurt out before he could stop to chat with the doorman on their way out.

His arm was over Kurt's shoulder, and he could feel a hand on his waist keeping him steady, a hand which he patted kindly in thanks for the help.

"Puckerman, you don't even know where you're going," Kurt snapped as his inebriated companion began steering to the left. "My apartment is _this way_," he pushed Noah with all his might in the direction of several blocks of identical apartments, all shabby and sad, but clean and upright nonetheless. He eyed his destination with regret, glad his friend was too drunk to care about exactly where he would be crashing for the night.

"Thought you didn't want to see me," Noah growled, stumbling over an insignificant crack in the pavement.

"If the choice is between you coming home with me, and you contracting a bunch of STDs at the nearest street corner, I'd rather not have your wart covered penis on my conscience."

Noah, unsure whether or not he should be offended, shrugged.

Kurt tried to ignore the heavy warmth of Noah's half embrace, still as strong as it had been as they, joyful teenagers, had traipsed along the street together, joking and laughing as Noah shouted to every boy in the street whether or not he wanted to _Get with my boy Hummel, here_. The slender performer smiled at the memory, and would have asked whether or not Noah recalled such times if he wasn't painfully aware of how the man wreaked of alcohol, his movements screaming a need to sit down, and sit down _fast_.

"I'm not too far up," he muttered, more to himself than the oblivious man holding his bags. "Just the third floor, we'll have to take the stairs. Come on, princess." The term seemed to wake Noah up a bit, because he grinned at the floor he was staring at.

"Thanks, dude," he hiccupped, reaching up to ruffle Kurt's hair, only to get his fingers tangled in the glittery spray and stronghold wax. "Dude, your hair's like, Mr Schue worthy." He chuckled to himself, wondering whether or not Sue Sylvester would be proud of him for mocking their old glee club tutor, even from afar. She never had liked him…too many run ins with her favourite little Porcelain.

Either Kurt ignored him, or was too busy worrying about whether or not they could make it three flights of stairs before they both collapsed from exhaustion and tumbled back to the ground level.

"Wow, really living the high life, aren't you, Hummel?" Noah snorted, his eyes on the vandalised walls and battered doors.

"Fuck you, Puckerman," Kurt snapped in a semi-friendly tone as he stopped outside the second apartment on the third floor. Here he was forced to drop Noah, who found his sudden independence most unwelcome as his knees trembled and he slumped breathlessly against the wall. He watched as Kurt managed to get the key in the hole properly on the fourth attempt, swinging the door wide open and pushing his friend in before closing it behind him firmly.

The awkwardness that swelled as the quiet living-dining room received them was disrupted when Kurt began bustling around.

"You can sleep here," he said shortly, grabbing a large blanket from the armchair and fluffing the cushions on the sofa once. Noah eyed the lumpy couch with unease, but even in his confused state of mind he recognised the temper in Kurt's gaze. The boy (would he ever stop being a boy to him? Noah wondered) was tired, still covered in stage makeup, and the swollen lump in his throat that he had first swallowed upon noticing Noah at the bar was starting to constrict his breathing.

Claiming the bag from Noah's relaxed hand, he pointed out the bathroom and kitchen on his way out of the room. "Don't go in there," he said firmly, pointing to the closed door on the other side of the room, which Noah had assumed was another bedroom. "I mean it, Noah, leave it alone. And if someone comes in during the next few hours, just ignore them. They'll leave you in peace."

He nodded slowly, wishing he had the stones to speak up before Kurt disappeared behind his bedroom door. He kicked off his shoes, and was stripping to his underwear when he suddenly remembered his bags, tucked safely in the back room of Red Miller's. He would have to collect them in the morning, not having the energy to wonder whether bars and clubs even opened during daylight hours. Swearing under his breath, he sat cold and rigid on the blanket Kurt had draped over the settee.

This was not going well at all.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Maybe harsh words and a brief disagreement before a manly hug as the emotion poured out of them. Maybe bitchiness from Kurt and fury from himself. Maybe tears of joy at a reunion long awaited. Maybe a fist fight. But why should he have expected more, expected less? Kurt had always been good at avoiding a problem. He'd always had a talent for putting things off for weeks on end during their high school years, refusing to acknowledge a problem until it near swallowed him whole.

But things were different in high school. Kurt had always had someone to force him into facing the truth back then, whether it be his father, his stepbrother, his stepmother, Mercedes, Sue Sylvester, William Schuester…Noah. Granted, Noah seemed to be the _cause _of his problems more often than not, but in those later months, the ones that mattered…Kurt needed him, he was sure of it. For all their fights, they _had _become friends.

He didn't know how long he sat there for, but by the time he stood up from his frozen position on the couch his limbs were stiff and his teeth ached with the cold. Goosebumps rose along his arms and legs as he tiptoed lightly across the room, feeling strangely like the villain of a horror film, perhaps a vampire or a serial killer, and gently, ever so gently, he pushed the door to Kurt's bedroom open.

In the dark it was impossible to make out anything but the outline of a wardrobe, a vanity table - its mirror glinting eerily in the dull glow of the streetlamp outside - and a bed. And in the bed he saw a figure lying curled into a foetal position.

Kurt was shaking, and his gasps for breath made Noah's cheeks blush scarlet with guilt as he realised Kurt Hummel, proud, arrogant, stubborn Kurt Hummel, was crying.

He didn't ask for permission before sliding under the covers to join the young man. He ignored his conceited straight jock subconscious as it screamed _gaygaygaygaygaygay! _in the back of his head, and he wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, drawing him close. He tried not to think about why he would spoon with the friend who'd abandoned him so many years ago, but had always refused to spoon with Kelly Baxter, the only girl to always still be there in the morning to eat breakfast with him after a night of passion.

Kurt turned slowly, and without a comment he buried his damp face in Noah's neck, clinging to him desperately as his shaking worsened. Neither acknowledged the small whimpers, or the way the larger man made a barely audible _sshh _sound, soft as the wash of gentle waves over sand.

Noah sighed into Kurt's hair, and he almost smiled as his subconscious was drowned out by the sound of Finn's voice floating there instead, telling him to get away from his little brother _"big brother!" _Kurt's imagined voice joined in, and soon an entire scenario was playing itself out in Noah's mind. It was homely and welcoming.

And even though both young men knew they would both regret it in the morning, they enjoyed the silent companionship as their breaths steadied, in-and-out-and-in-and-out, synchronised and calm.

For a few hours they took advantage of their sorrow, knowing when the sun's rays woke them, they would be forced to deal with their anger instead.

**RWRWRW**

_"Puckerman, I know you're in there. Get your sexy ass off your bed and open the damn door, you moronic waste of space!"_

_He'd had better wake up calls, to be sure, but Noah was grateful for Santana's company once she'd kindly complied with his wishes and stopped shouting at him. He fumbled with the latch several times, his eyelids still half clumped together with sleep, and when the door had finally swung open the Latina girl had stalked in and taken immediate residence in the squashy folds of the overstuffed beanbag in the middle of the room that served as living room, dining room, and bedroom for the young Jewish musician._

_"What do you want, Satan?" he asked blearily, wriggling his way onto the beanbag and curling around her. Though she huffed, looking disgusted, she still managed to throw an arm over his shoulder. "Did you get another boob job?" he asked before she could answer his first question, his ear resting comfortably on her chest._

_"No, I didn't," Santana snapped, pulling out of the hug indignantly and throwing the man onto the floor. "And as for why I'm here, I have some important news that you might need to attend to."_

_"What?" Noah groaned, assuming the worst. Maybe he'd managed to piss off the mafia and he was going to have to change his identity…_

_"Well, he's tall, brown haired, queer as a three dollar bill, bitchy, cold, mean, and answers to a range of nicknames, including, if I recall correctly, _Dude, _but only when it's you that calls him it."_

_He tried hard to look confused, or perhaps nonchalant, he truly did. But the be all and end all of it was he would simply never be that good an actor._

_"What?" he cried, leaping up from where he lay sprawled on the ground, knocking both his shins on the coffee table in his celebratory haste. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, the thumping in his head had dulled, forgotten, the excessive drinks bought for him by an excessive amount of women the night before nothing in comparison to this._

_"Hang on, Tiger," Santana grumbled, pointing over to the miniscule kitchen space. "Make me a coffee and some toast. Then we'll talk."_

_"Fuck that, Lopez, tell me what you know," Noah snarled, crouching beside the girl. She knew, of course, he would never, under any circumstances, hit a woman (especially not her, she reminded herself with an internal smirk) but the dark desperation in his hazel eyes hit her plenty harder than his fist ever would. She almost stammered._

_Almost._

_"I may have visited the Windy City recently, and I may, in between various hook ups, have passed by a certain food joint selling fuck knows what and all that shit, and I may have spotted one ex-Cheerio member serving a meal through the window. I may also have walked past the place several times, just to be sure." She shrugged, inspecting her nails as she spoke._

_It was as if this wasn't the news of the century. It was as if this didn't change everything._

_If he hadn't been so keen on keeping his face the way it was, Noah was fairly certain he would have kissed the girl._

_"Santana!" he bellowed, and without another glance at the girl he raced into his bedroom._

_With no-one to see the rare sign of fondness creep into her expression, Santana allowed an affectionate smile to pull at her full lips. She could hear the half-muttering half-humming of the young man in the room next door, and she sauntered proudly across the room to stand in the doorway, leaning onto the frame with her arms crossed, right foot hooked around left ankle._

_Noah was chasing his clothes about the room, stuffing them into bags and rooting through drawers with enough haste to power a steam train._

_"Puckerman, calm it, will you?"_

_"You're going to tell me where to go, and then I'm getting on a train, okay?" Noah shouted, and she would have been offended at his tone had she not known he was closer to excited than angry, as his tone suggested._

_"No, you're going to sit down and listen to me," she ordered, eyebrows quirked and lips pushed outwards into a half smirk._

_Noah paused, glancing at the clock on his wall, ten minutes slow but still ticking._

_"You have twenty minutes, and then I'm out of here. I've waited four and half damn years for this."_

**RWRWRW**

If his life was some womanly flick film, Noah was sure he would have awoken with a smile on his face, a kiss on the head for the younger man sleeping next to him, followed by a deep, meaningful conversation during which several tears would be shed, each on wiping the others' away; a deeper understanding would be achieved within ten minutes of waking up, and they would go back to being best friends in a heartbeat.

Oh! If only his life was some womanly flick film.

It was awkward. He couldn't tell whether or not Kurt was awake yet, and he wanted so badly to move…he had cramp in his thighs and the arm curled beneath Kurt was tingling with pins and needles, his fingers numb and his shoulder joint aching. With every breath he felt more and more swallowed in the stuffy room, light filtering through off-white blinds, a clock on the vanity reading close to ten o'clock.

He was about to move when his skin crawled uncomfortably, and he was suddenly aware of someone standing in the open doorway to Kurt's room, watching with an impolitely curious gaze. His mind flashed back to the closed bedroom door on the other side of the living room, and Kurt's warning to ignore whoever else was in the apartment. He peered at the figure through his lashes, though he was pretty sure he'd been caught awake.

She was tall and willowy, if a little underfed, her cheekbones carving high mountains in her face beneath large eyes, the colour of which he couldn't quite tell from such a distance. Her lips, surrounded by a smudgy red, were pressed together in a pinched line of distaste, and for a moment he wondered whether or not Kurt Hummel, of all people, was sharing his place with a homophobe. Her arms were crossed, pressing against a nicely sized chest that, at pretty much _any _other time, he would have paused momentarily to appreciate better.

His breaths were painfully loud in his own ears as the seconds crept by and still she watched them.

She didn't move until Kurt shifted in his arms, squirming out of consciousness as he fought to be free of the tight embrace of his friend. Before the smaller man could open his eyes, she had vanished from sight.

Noah groaned as Kurt rolled off his numb arm, sighing in satisfaction as the blood raced back to his blue fingers. He smiled cheekily over at Kurt, but the grin faltered at the younger man's stony expression.

"Y'ok?" he asked warily. It would take more than five years to forget Kurt's _pissy face_.

"Why are you here?"

No beating around the bush for Kurt Hummel - there never had been,

"To see you."

"Why are you here, Noah?"

"Santana told me she'd seen you. I came to see you, too. Got a problem with that?"

"Maybe," Kurt snapped waspishly. "Maybe I didn't want to be disturbed. Maybe, if I'd wanted to see you, I'd have asked Santana about you. The fact that I didn't, I should think, is a clear sign I _don't _want you here."

He wasn't yet out of bed, but he'd edged to the headboard, leaving the unwanted visitor sprawled in front of him. His blue eyes, colder than the ice in his voice, pierced Noah, who, bristling, clambering to sit up, half hugging his knees.

"_Or_ perhaps you're just being your usual pissy self. You're not getting rid of me that easy, Hummel."

"Fuck you, Puckerman!" Kurt threw off his covers and leapt out of bed, snatching an oversized dressing gown and throwing it on as if it was royal furs. "I don't _need _you here. I don't _want _you here-"

"Well I want to be here!" Noah bellowed. He ignored his clothes, which were piled near the door, stepping in Kurt's way as he tried to storm past him. "No, Kurt! You're not avoiding this one. You aren't leaving this room until you give the explanation that you and I both know I deserve."

That, if nothing else, struck Kurt dumb. He ceased fighting against Noah's unrelenting stance, looking up into his face as wonder creased his brow.

"You've grown up," he whispered, his words ghosting his lips, as if he dared not speak them too loud. Noah pushed his head down in a motion that just about passed as a nod.

"You haven't," he replied coolly, and he refused to feel that swelling guilt as Kurt's eyes filled with tears to match the shameful red stain colouring his alabaster cheeks. "And I'm not leaving."

Kurt, raising his loosely clenched fists, beat against Noah's chest weakly, looking unsure whether he was supposed to smile or cry at his friend's unchanged stubbornness. Pressing his forehead to the base of the taller's throat, he hummed a noise of painful protest. "Please go," he whispered, and Noah felt the damp trickle of a badly concealed tear fall onto his bare torso. He ignored it, and swallowed down the tremor in his voice at the rejection.

"I want to stay, though." And as he'd always said, what Puckerman wants, Puckerman gets.

"We're not friends anymore," Kurt snapped, still not looking up from his friend's throat.

"I have friends and I have enemies, Hummel. If I'm not your friend, I'm your enemy. And it's an enemy's prerogative to piss you off. If staying will piss you off, I guess I'll stick around for a while."

It took a lot of effort for Kurt not to smile, plastering on instead icy, sarcastic amusement with which to finally stare up at Noah. "Prerogative? Been reading the dictionary before bedtime, princess?"

He ignored the soft smile that crept into Noah's face at the endearing term.

"Every night."

"Stimulating read, isn't it?"

"Oh to be sure. Dude." He added the final word as an afterthought, tentatively waiting for the scowl that twisted Kurt's steely expression.

A silence fell between them, in which the smaller man turned to make the bed, ignoring his companion haughtily, jaw tense and hands occasionally running self-consciously through his bed rumpled hair, or over his damp, blotchy face. There was a sizzle of butter on a hot pan coming from the kitchen, and Noah was tempted to ask who the girl was, and whether or not she really was homophobic…at the very least he wanted her name, but he refrained. He knew perfectly well he had two options. Try again, even if there was little hope of success this time around, or give up entirely.

And Noah Puckerman was no quitter.

Steeling himself, he coughed loudly to gain the attention of the room, from the obsessing man to the clock to the birds on the windowsill outside. Kurt slowed his actions, but didn't acknowledge he was listening.

"I know why you left."

The disbelieving _Hmm_ he received as a reply caused him to roll his eyes.

"Seriously, I get it, Kurt. I really, really do. What I _don't _get," he spoke with a growl under his breath, teeth grinding and tongue wetting chapped lips, "is why you didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye. Or come with you."

"Ha!" Kurt cried, throwing his head back in vindictive laughter, shaking it as he chuckled.

"I'm serious!"

"As you've said," Kurt responded in a snide voice. "Well I figured I was doing you a favour by getting out of your life."

"How could you even say that? Kurt, you-"

"Because, Noah, the last thing you ever said to me was that I was a dirty queer who'd ruined your life." Finallyhe'd turned around, stopping making that damn bed, and his shiny eyes were staring, and Noah realised they looked hurt and lonely, as they had done the day he'd shouted those long regretted, hateful words.

"Those weren't the last words I said to you," he grumbled, "And you know it."

"Well they were the last ones you said with any resemblance of sincerity," Kurt snapped. He pressed his slim lips together, hands clamped on his hips, which jutted out an such an angle; Noah wanted to smile fondly at the familiar image he presented, despite the ruffled appearance. But the words hanging in the air kept his face from forming anything other than an injured grimace of dispute. "And believe me when I say with equal sincerity that this conversation is over. Stay if you must; just don't stay here."

And with that Kurt, taking advantage of Noah's shock at such a strong objection to his presence, stalked out of the room, towards the growing sounds of cooking that came from outside the stifling bedroom, overflowing with anger and frustration.


	4. According to Plan

**Title****: Red Windmills**

**Summary****: Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...**

**Pairings****: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...also, Blaine isn't going to feature at all for some time, we don't think…]**

**Chapter Warnings****: Offensive language, slight sexual implications if you squint**

**Still going strong with the favourites/alerts, thanks so much! Glad to be read =) Thank you to christmasdeer for your review, but a whole lotta-love goes to Mischievous Gleek, who Kyle wants to say thank you to for an entertaining conversation. Unfortunately, he's not here at the moment, so this is all coming to you from ****_Stormy-Sally_**** xx**

**Reviews are rewarded with hugs and love, please please please drop us a line!**

_**Italics are flashback scenes. Parts of this may be confusing…it's all explained soon, no fear!**_

4) According to Plan

"Morning sweetheart."

Rather than reply to the woman stood in front of a pan of sizzling bacon, Kurt hopped up to sit on the worktop beside the cooker, hiding his wet eyes in the hazy smoke surrounding them as the meat strips crisped and crackled. His hands clasped in his lap, he smiled meekly at the girl without looking at her.

"Hey, twinkle toes," she snapped lightly, "Talk to me."

"I know you were listening," he grumbled. "You don't have to pretend."

Before he could shamefully wipe away the tear that trickled down his face, she had leaned over and kissed it away.

"Smile, bitch, or no breakfast butties for you."

Kurt's lips teased upwards in a reluctant curve, his eyes leaving his lap to stare into the young woman's face.

"Oh my god, Susie!" he cried, grabbing her face and pulling her close to inspect the swollen lump in the middle of her left cheek, the peak of which had broken, a bubble of blood scabbed over the purple mound. He scowled, glaring at her as she blushed angrily. "Tell me you told Billy about this."

"Yes, I did."

"Did he pay you compensation?"

Susie threw him a look of disbelief, the _What do you think? _clear in her expression.

"Don't lecture me," she warned him quietly, and returned to her pan, flipping the bacon slices between two rolls spread with mayonnaise. Handing one plate to Kurt, she turned off the heat and dumped the washing in the empty sink before taking her own food to the sofa. Kurt followed silently, thanking her with a ruffle of a hand through her bed rumpled hair and sitting next to her. "It's rude to eavesdrop!" she shouted abruptly, and Kurt flinched, turning to see Noah Puckerman standing outside his bedroom door.

"Come in, Noah," he sighed in defeat. The young man walked hesitantly, having finally put his clothes back on, until he was standing awkwardly beside the couch. "Noah Puckerman, Susanna Sandwell. Susanna Sandwell, Noah Puckerman."

For some reason, Noah seemed to eye the woman with distrust, but he murmured a _Hi_ nonetheless.

"Hmm," Susie replied, glancing Noah up and down with distaste.

"Susie," Kurt growled. "Be nice."

"Whatever," she sighed, taking a large bite out of her bacon buttie.

"You're like…not American."

"Wow, Kurt, you didn't tell me you were friends with Sherlock Holmes!"

"Who?" Noah asked warily, and Kurt sniggered, slapping Susie's arm playfully to quieten her.

"You're right. I'm English, darling," she explained snidely, emphasising her accent until her words were heavy with patronisation.

"Oh."

Unsure where to look, Noah's eyes travelled to Kurt, who was watching him expectantly, waiting to see how he'd react. Susie's attention returned to her food and she munched happily, seeming to enjoy the increasing discomfort of the men on either side of her.

"So, how do people call you? Noah? Puckerman?"

"-Puck," Noah interrupted, not appreciating the badly stifled snort that escaped the redheaded girl's lips.

"Very well, Puck. How long will you be staying with us-"

"He won't be staying with-"

"Oh, don't be like that, Kurt, sweetheart," Susie patted her friend's leg firmly, aware of the way Kurt's face reddened with frustration, while Noah's seemed to light up at her intervention. "Puck's welcome for as long as he wants. What brings you to the Windy City, Puck?"

"Err-Kurt, actually," Noah explained, feeling a sudden rush of warmth for the young woman who, up to this time, he'd felt only resentment for.

"Aww, well maybe you can go out tomorrow on Kurt's day off? I'm sure you both have lots to catch up on. I recognise your name…you went to high school with him, right?" Finally she turned to face him properly, and Puck saw with more than a little shock that her rosy skin was blemished by a nasty looking bruise on her left cheek, but she hadn't acknowledged it, so neither did he.

His gaze found hers, and he found himself looking into a pair of the oddest eyes he'd ever seen, the left a bright, golden green, but the right was split between grass and smoke, as if someone had pooled grey paint in the middle of green.

"Y-Yeah, we went to school together. He was m-"

"Look, I don't think it's such a good idea-" Kurt intervened, trying to take control of the situation, his empty plate falling to the floor with a clatter that no-one noticed.

"Oh course it is!" Susie cried, and she pinched Kurt's thigh, causing him to yelp in protest. "Stay as long as you like, Puck. Will you be rooming with Kurt? Or you can have the sofa. I'd offer you my room, but I'm too selfish to share."

Noah grinned, he was really starting to like this woman, as sharp and cold as she appeared to be.

"I'm cool with the sofa," he shrugged.

"No but-"

"It's settled then."

"I insist you both-"

"Thanks so much."

"Don't even think-"

"You're welcome, darling."

Deaf to Kurt's bellowing, they reached over to shake hands, and Noah couldn't help but notice that while her movements were firm and steady, her grip around his fingers was weak and brittle.

"_Don't even think about it, Puckerman!_" Kurt shouted. "I want you out of here right now!"

"Sorry dude," Noah shrugged.

"Yes, sweetheart," Susie sighed, picking up Kurt's fallen plate and walking to the kitchen to toss both his and her own into the sink before filling up with water. "We've agreed. It would be wrong to go back on our words now."

Kurt glared at them both, from the cool challenging eyes of Susie to Noah's victorious, triumphant smirk, before stalking to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him, clicking the lock in place firmly.

Shaking with anger, he didn't wait for the water of his shower to heat up; instead he stepped straight into the icy stream, shivering and hissing but refusing to give in. Rather than think of the cold, he distracted himself with two important issues.

The first, why on earth _anyone_ would voluntarily befriend Susanna Sandwell?

The second, how on earth he was going to get rid of Noah Puckerman?

**RWRWRW**

_Chicago. Kurt had lost count of how many villages, towns, cities he'd visited in the past two weeks._

_Two weeks. Already?_

_Yes, it must have been._

_And here he was, Chicago. The Wind City. He sighed, breathing in that windy air, and he coughed at the taste of homesickness that left a bitter tang on his tongue. Was home here? How many times had he asked that question?_

_He wasn't sure he'd ever find home again._

_But as lonely as that thought was, it didn't stop him walking…left right left right left right…and it didn't stop him looking…left right left right left right…and he refused to give in…left right left right left right…because he had to keep going. It wasn't a choice. It was a necessity. Keep going or turn to stone and never move again. Because it wasn't as if returning was an option._

_Who was he supposed to return to?_

_Anger, sour as lemons, bubbled in the pit of his empty stomach. His search became one of hunger as he eyed restaurants and cafés, all closed up for the night._

_What time was it?_

_Peering down at his watch, in the dusty light of a streetlamp he made out it was something past three in the morning. So late? He knew his train had been delayed, but he hadn't realised by quite how much. Time seemed irrelevant to him, these days._

_He wandered the dark streets, and like every major city he found himself at a crossroads, a path to the expensive, respectable side of the town, and another the side of town he could afford without wasting all his train ticket money, should he decide Chicago was also not right for him._

_Reluctantly his feet took him down the dark streets. Did they just seem darker because he knew the sort of places they led to? Perhaps._

_Whatever his thoughts, however, it wasn't long before the lonely night silences grew few and far between, filled instead with beating music vibes and the hooting chatter of late nighters stalking the streets - or would staggering be a better word? He clutched his bags more tightly, crossing to the other side of the road, the emptier side, as he saw a particularly large group of people up ahead, their stench of smoke and alcohol and vomit reaching him half way down the street._

_He kept his head down, hoping not to be noticed, and it seemed or work. More than likely, however, they were simply too drunk to notice him at all, no matter his actions._

_He tried his best not to look up, but sometimes a particular shout would catch up with him, and his eyes would flit to find the source before he could stop himself, curiosity getting the better of him._

_And on one such time, he found his eyes unable to avert from the scene that played out before him._

_Hidden in the shadows, he watched unseen as a young woman stormed out from an alley. She was dressed in what could be described as little more than a corset and shorts, a rip in her fishnet tights, her heels click-clacking on the pavement as she stumbled away. Her dark red hair was plastered around her face as she sweated and sobbed, her eyes dark with smudged makeup._

_She turned around as a man followed her, wearing a dark shirt and slim fitting trousers, from out of the alley, bellowing for her to come back._

_"Like hell I will!" she shrieked, turning only shout over her shoulder before running faster. Limited by the height of her shoes, however, she didn't get far before he caught up with her, and once she was within grabbing distance he reached up, fisting a hand in her hair and pulling hard, so she tumbled backwards to the ground._

_Paralysed with shock, Kurt could only watch as the man began dragging her back towards the alley, and all the while she screamed - was that apologies? - and still he heaved._

_Until she said something that caused him to stop. Too lost in the horror of the sight, Kurt hadn't heard what she'd said, but clearly her attacker had. He paused, crouching down to take her face in his hands, and even from across the street Kurt could see her shivering, though whether it was with cold or fear none could tell._

_He watched her nod at the man's words, and then point to a group of men standing several metres away from the alley she'd left via. The man followed her gaze and then turned back, speaking again._

_And again she nodded._

_This time, when the man walked towards the alley, he wasn't taking her with him. She remained on the floor, clutching at herself as she tried to regain control of her heaving breaths. And the man singled out a particularly large stranger from among the group, speaking quietly with him to one side, alternating between pointing his finger in the man's face and pointing back at the woman._

_Whatever they were speaking about, they didn't seem to agree. The smaller man, hastily rolling up the sleeves of his dark shirt, proceeded to punch the man in the face, ignoring the man's friend's protests._

_"You understand now, fucker?" he yelled, jerking his knee upwards into the man's groin._

_The taller man was on the floor in seconds, groaning louder than his shouting friends, all of whom clustered around him protectively._

_The attacker held out his hand, and the man on the floor reached into his pocket and handed him what looked to be a pile of cash, then turned to strut away with the smug air of a heroic champion._

_The woman had calmed down a little, and Kurt watched with morbid fascination as she curled vulnerably into the chest of the man who, moments before, had been dragging her down the street by her hair. He stuffed the newly won money into his pocket as he cradled her close to him. He seemed to be speaking, but in the lack of light Kurt wasn't sure, and any noises were drowned out by the hooting and bellowing of the group of men down the street, all of whom looked unsurprisingly pissed off as they half carried half dragged their friend towards a line of taxis._

_Soon the street was quieter, but Kurt still found himself unwilling to move. His eyes were fixed on the couple as the man stood, sifted through the pile of money he had extracted from his pocket, and dropped several bills in his companion's lap. She didn't acknowledge him, choosing to remain slumped on the floor, hips twisted at an awkward angle and face pressed to the damp, dirty ground._

_And there she stayed, even once she'd been left alone._

_Fully aware he could very well be setting himself up to get mugged, Kurt took charge of his frozen body and walked calmly across the road towards her._

_She watched him approach with an emotionless gaze, blinking slowly and deliberately._

_"Do you need some help?" he asked quietly, not wanting to frighten her._

_"Sure," she sniggered, as if the thought was an amusing one, but made no move to get up._

_Kurt knew there was no chance of him ever being able to lift her, even if he didn't have three large bags weighing him down. So instead, doing his best not to wince at the grime he was no doubt pressing into his skinny jeans, he sat next to her, reaching over to place a hand on her leg._

_This time she flinched, but still didn't move away._

_"I'm Kurt," he informed her uselessly._

_She smiled, her lips testing his name quietly to herself before returning the favour._

_"Susie."_

**RWRWRW**

"I'm not going to pretend to know everything about what happened with Kurt at school."

Noah, who had been sitting on the arm of the couch looking decidedly concerned as he stared into nothingness, started as the young woman spoke. He looked up at her, but she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were trained on the dishes as she washed each one with loving care, but the way she shifted from one foot to the other gave away that she knew he was watching her.

"Ok," he said simply, standing up to walk towards her, but he paused as he reached the kitchen worktops, leaning against a space next to the kettle rather than get any closer to her.

"But I know he needs someone around. Someone who understands," she clarified, looking briefly over at the young man, who nodded understandingly.

"I kind of figured as much," he shrugged.

She nodded, more to the soap than to him, and they returned to a surprisingly comfortable quiet, the only sounds being the splash of dishes in the sink and the splatter of Kurt's shower.

Noah stared around at the sparse living area. It was a long way from the comfortable, if not luxurious, Hummel-Hudson home Kurt had left behind. Everything was mismatched - oh, how that must have been killing Kurt! - and a good deal of it looked to be second hand.

"Susanna-"

"Susie," she corrected sharply.

He grinned, recognising that she had reprimanded him in the exact way he had reprimanded her with _Puck _earlier. "Susie," he spoke her name slowly, appreciating the syllables on his tongue. "I was wondering…"

He tailed away, not wanting to build a wall between them before they'd even really spoken.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace, Puck," she encouraged swiftly, and her impatience reminded him of Kurt. No wonder the two of them got along so well.

"What was with the glare this morning? I saw you watching me and Kurt…before he woke up, and you looked pretty pissed."

Not, perhaps, the most subtle way of asking _Are you a fucking homophobe or what? _and Susie seemed to pick up on this, because out of the corner of his eye he was sure he saw her smirk at her hands.

"I've seen enough of your high school pictures to not need an introduction, Puck. Anyone who I've had to watch that kid cry over as much as you, I sort of hate on principle until proven otherwise. Don't be offended. I gave that girl hell at first, too, when she was here."

_Girl_? Oh…

"Santana?" he asked. "She was here?"

"Santana, that's the one! We spoke a couple of times. No, not here. But yeah, we talked. She's a nice girl."

"I can think of better descriptions," Noah grinned. _Well_, he thought to himself, _more accurate ones_.

Their next silence was a little more awkward, but not entirely uncomfortable. Susie finished washing, not bothering to dry the dishes, and walked over to the fridge. Her back to him, she began fixing up a sandwich at the counter, humming a tune Noah couldn't quite catch as she worked.

Despite telling himself this wasn't the time, Noah's eyes traced her outlines, taking in the slight curls of dark red hair that curled at her waist, the lithe frame and the stiff, soreness with which she moved, as if she, like Kurt, had spent her night dancing. She was dressed in two spaghetti-strap t-shirts and a pair of shorts that just about passed as being more than underwear, and at the end of her legs (_all the way to Canada_ sprang to his mind, and he grinned) her feet were bare.

He was almost too distracted to avert his eyes in time to avoid being caught when finally she turned around. Walking towards him, she handed him the sandwich, and he stared at the white roll filled with cheese and slices of tomato in wonder.

"What's this?"

"Your breakfast, idiot," she snapped, dropping it onto the worktop next to him and fetching them both a glass of cheap orange juice each.

"Oh…thanks," he mumbled, embarrassed, and took a small bite out of the roll, as if testing for poison.

She gulped down her drink before answering coolly. "Yeah well, with a name like Puckerman you probably don't want a bacon sandwich. In any case, it's your first day and things are only going to go downhill from here. _I _got you a place to stay. Now it's your turn."

As if on cue, seconds after her muttered explanation, Kurt exited his bedroom - when had he finished his shower? Noah wondered - fully dressed in black trousers and white shirt, his hair still damp but his face scrubbed of tears, and, Noah was glad to see, animosity. He looked calm and composed as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I have to go to work," Kurt explained, eyes resting somewhere on the wall in between his flatmate and his ex-best friend. "I'll be back around five."

"See you then, sweetheart." It seemed Susie's pet names hovered between fond and sarcastic, and Kurt threw her a dark look before turning to Noah reluctantly.

"If you plan on staying for more than two days, you're going to have to pay rent, or at least contribute to the water bills. You spend way too long in your showers."

The fact that Kurt remembered his showering habits _should not_ have pleased Noah as much as it did.

"Better get a job, Puckerman," Susie cut in, using a snide sing song voice, and Noah wasn't too sure whether or not her tone was directed at him or at Kurt.

"Or just leave within two days," Kurt said simply, a bright smile of false contentment on his face. And before Noah could say a word, obviously not in the mood to chat, Kurt practically skipped out of the front door.

Noah stared after him, eyes boring into the closed front door with a disorientated sense that everything else in the world was moving forward, while he stayed stuck in time.

He was vaguely aware of Susie informing him in a bored voice that she was going to get a shower, and he waved her away without replying verbally.

No, this was definitely not going according to plan.


	5. Forget Me Not

**Title****: Red Windmills**

**Summary****: Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...**

**Pairings****: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...also, Blaine isn't going to feature at all for some time, we don't think…]**

**Chapter Warnings****: Offensive language, slight sexual implications (squint!)**

**Please please please, more reviews, people! We love to know your thoughts! Happy to know you're enjoying the story =) Particular love goes to Mischievous Gleek and Ranbowbrite006 for your sexy words. **

**Reviews are rewarded with hugs and love, so get those fingers typing!**

_**Italics are flashback scenes. **__**NOTE: Not sure how it's been implied/stated so far, but to clear things up - Kurt left during senior year. It is now about four and a half years later.**_

5) Forget Me Not

Apparently burlesque lounges _did_ open during the day.

Susie had ushered Noah out of the apartment before midday, freshly showered and light makeup applied to conceal her bruised face, informing him that it was worth more than her life to let him stay there alone while Kurt was still in such a bad mood with both of them for their current situation. He'd pouted and sulked and moaned, but she'd refused to cave.

_"I have to get to work, Puck! I'll walk you to Red Miller's so you can grab your stuff, but then you're on your own until five when Kurt gets back."_

And just to drop a cherry on top, she'd refused to enter Red Miller's with him. Ignoring his cries for her to stay just a few minutes, she'd sauntered down the street with a strut reminiscent of how Kurt had looked on the stage the night before, smug, confident, and full of…_something_.

Noah was too annoyed by her abandonment to think much on what exactly that something was.

Before he pulled open the heavy door, his eyes raked the poster that had first caught his eye - the poster that had led him to Kurt.

He stared hard at the figure in the corner, undoubtedly a pastel drawn Kurt Hummel, and he grimaced at the pale skin lines of his limbs. Porcelain limbs.

Damn Sue Sylvester and her frustratingly catchy nicknames.

It was dark inside, dusty as it was dusky. Noah almost felt guilty. Was this breaking and entering?

He pushed the thought to one side, however, as he heard a loud shriek from the stairs that led down to the main lounge. He gasped, stumbling back a step before attempting to smirk smoothly at the girl who'd frozen at the sight of him. She was small, well padded both up _and_ down, he noted with a flirty glance over, and her dark hair was scraped up into a bun on the top of her head.

"Well, _eyecandy_, good to see you!" she cried in delight as a smile split across her face.

Confused by the familiarity in her voice, Noah faltered in his witty response.

"Y-What?"

"Where's Kurty-kins?"

"Err, work?" he replied confusedly, unsure whether to laugh or vomit at the nickname. "Who are you?"

"Oh, me?" the girl asked, pressing a hand to her chest and grinning like a Cheshire Cat as she began walking slowly, predatorily towards him, as if preparing to pounce. "I'm Georgie. The real question, sweetheart, is who are _you_?" She leaned forwards to poke his chest firmly at the final word of her softly spoken question. Noah licked his lips nervously.

"I'm…Puck," he managed after a moment. "Puck," he repeated, slipping back into his comfortable stud mode with only a little difficulty. "Look, babe, I left some bags here last night. The guy on the door said he'd put them to one side, but I forgot them, so-"

"Well, _babe_," the young woman interrupted, snapping the name with less enthusiasm than Noah had done. "I'll go check."

"Thanks," he muttered, trying to charm a smile out of her with a wink. This proved a difficulty, however; she merely rolled her eyes impatiently as she made her way to the small room to their left.

He hesitated before following, and stood in the doorway as she rooted through a cupboard. The room was cramped, and the weak glow of the ceiling light made little difference. He coughed as the stuffy air enveloped him, and proceeded to distract himself from the discomfort by moving his eyes away from the littered desk and staring instead at the girl, bent over, her backside sticking up in the air. She was wearing leggings that hugged her thighs, and suddenly he was glad he had been forced to enter alone, so as to enjoy the view without being judged. He was a curious man with needs, after all…

Before he could work out whether or not he was right in thinking she wasn't wearing any underwear, unfortunately, she stood, heaving out a large bag by the handles.

"This one?" she asked, stepping to the side, and Noah nodded.

"Yeah, and those two. And the guitar." He strode forwards and together they wrenched his luggage out from amidst the boxes of papers and bags of old costumes.

"You play?" she asked as she dusted down the case and handed it over. Noah accepted it thankfully, his touch gentle as a lover's as he traced the lines of the rock and roll stickers covering it.

"Yeah," he replied softly.

"One of the guys tried to teach me when I first started here, but I could never get the hang of it. It's nice to meet you, Puck," Georgie said with a smile of curious understanding, holding out her hand.

Puck accepted, replying with similar sentiments. Her hand was damp with the same sweat that he now saw she was covered in, strands of dark hair clinging to her face, a line trickling down her neck, tracing a line into the crease of her breasts. Not wanting to accidentally say something inappropriate, or be caught staring down her low cut dance gear, he returned his attention to his things.

"So, you staying long?" she asked conversationally, picking up one of his bags for him while he took care of the rest.

"Don't really know," he shrugged. "I have a place up in Philadelphia, but it was only supposed to be temporary. I've been wanting to get away for a while…and I want to stick around with Kurt for now."

"I knew it!" she cried joyfully, slapping his shoulder. "The little deceiver," she shook her head, and Noah paused, confused.

"What do you-"

"I saw you last night, and when I asked Kurt about you he was all _No! He's just a friend! _Ha! Oh, he's-"

"Wait-what-No!" Noah cried, and a bemused smile twitched solemnly on his face. "I'm straight. Kurt and I are just friends," he explained slowly and carefully. Georgie's eyes narrowed in scrutiny as she inspected him up and down twice through.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yes!" Noah chuckled at her response, and she shrugged.

"Hmm, oh well. My bad. Want a drink then, eyecandy?"

Noah opened his mouth to reply, but his words caught in his throat.

What else was he going to do all day? Kurt was working, and Susie was gone, which left him with no-one. He'd promised to call Santana, but that could wait; he was sure that whatever she had to say to him wasn't what he wanted to hear quite yet. And here was Georgie. Georgie with the round chest and round hips, hair pulled back making the tanned skin on her round face tight, accentuating her round green eyes. Georgie, who was smiling at him as if to say _what harm will it do?_

He nodded, smiling. "Sounds good to me."

**RWRWRW**

When Kurt arrived at Café Castle he found that in his haste to leave the overwhelming stench of awkwardness that had filled his apartment - his _home_ - he had left far too early, and was a good half an hour premature in arriving for work. Knowing he wouldn't get paid any extra for working overtime, he decided to sulk in the storeroom for a while. Amidst boxes coffee beans and fair-trade cocoa and spices and herbs he found a kind of peace. And peace that had thus far avoided him from the moment he saw Noah sitting at the bar talking to Carley.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying hard not to pretend he was still lying in bed, encased in the warmth of his best friend.

The hum of happy lunches in the main room of the bistro filled the silence that surrounded him; the chatter of cutlery on plates and _ting _glasses meeting in cheers was oddly comforting.

He felt, rather than watched, the seconds ticking by. Sitting on a stool, he couldn't even bring himself to care he was probably getting his waiting staff uniform dusty.

But he wasn't alone for long.

All too soon the door opened, light spilling through the crack for a few seconds, and a figure slipped inside, closing the door firmly again with a snap. Kurt knew who it was, and shuffled over to let his friend sit down quietly.

"What's got you down, kiddo?"

And that was all it took.

A dry sob rippled through Kurt's chest and he slumped against the taller man, who accepted him into his arms without a thought, one hand on his cheek and the other rubbing circles into his lower back as Kurt pressed into him.

"It's not fair!" he groaned. "It's not fair, Jamie!"

And Jamie, knowing better than to try talk him down, simply made _sshh_ sounds that muffled the cries. "I know," he mumbled, though of course, in reality he had no idea whatsoever. "I know, kiddo."

He wasn't much older than Kurt, not even three years, but Kurt had always taken comfort from the nickname, even if it was inspired by a film as violent as Kill Bill.

They waited, comfortable in each others' presence, for Kurt to calm down and sit up again. Even once his breaths returned to a simple in-out, cool and calm, rather than a shudder of air rattling through his windpipe, their hands remained clasped in Jamie's lap. The older man leaned over to kiss away a tear on Kurt's cheek, similarly to how Susie had done earlier.

Were all his friends really so similar? he couldn't help but think to himself with internally cynical smile.

"Ready to tell me the problem?"

Jamie, Kurt considered, was a trustworthy man. He'd been the one to get Kurt a job in Café Castle in the first place, and had been the one to teach him the ropes once he started. They'd bonded over spilt drinks and rejected food orders and dish washing duties, and had even tried 'the whole dating thing' after about a year of friendship.

It had failed, of course, but the sex had been good while it lasted. And the lack of discomfort that followed their tearless break up was a definite positive.

So it boiled down to one thing.

Not _would Jamie understand_? Not _can I trust Jamie_? Not _will Jamie be able to advise me_? But, in fact, something much worse.

Could Kurt trust himself?

"One of my friends is here," he whispered, shamefaced.

"One of your…" Jamie began, confused. "From Lima?"

Only two people were aware of Kurt's hometown: the only two he trusted enough not to bother doing a private investigation. Susie and Jamie.

"Yeah," he nodded. "M-My best friend," his eyes found his fingers, linked with Jamie's own, bigger hands. "He found out I was here and came looking for me. And now he's here. And I'm…I don't want him here!" he cried, looking away in disgrace. "He's here and…and it makes me _hate_ myself so much. And I just want to hate _him_! But I can't! Because…he hasn't even…he never did anything wrong, and I just hate that I can't hate him."

"Why?" Jamie asked, and Kurt was sure he should have been irritated by the understanding psychiatrist tone to his voice, but he was already too angry to be adding more to the list of things that were currently pissing him off.

"Because he's just one big reminder of all my…my failures. My regrets. And I don't want to think about that!"

Jamie bit his lip as Kurt held his breath, holding in whatever else he was clearly burning to shout at him. He was getting scorched by Kurt's anger - and it wasn't even directed at him! He didn't envy whoever this 'friend' was.

He waited for the younger man to continue, prompting him by squeezing his hands gently.

"And now Noah knows…he's friends with my brother, and then Finn'll find out. And it wouldn't surprise me if Finn's still rehearsing the same old Finn 'n' Rachel drama, and if Rachel finds out, _everyone_ will find out! And that means Mercedes will find out. And she will _never_ forgive me for leaving, either. I don't have to explain myself to anyone!" he shouted.

"I know, Kurt, I get it," Jamie insisted, and this time he meant it. He shifted his weight to sit closer to him, their legs touching hip to knee. "You don't have to explain yourself. You're right."

"I damn well am right," Kurt snapped indignantly, but still shot an apologetic look to his friend. "Sorry. I'm not mad at you. I appreciate you putting up with me."

"I deserve a medal," Jamie said frankly, nodding slowly, his expression innocently playful. He didn't comment on how obviously false Kurt's smile was. It was enough to fool the customers, and that would have to do. "Come on, kiddo," he slapped Kurt's knee hard twice, gripping his elbow and hoisting him up in a bodily fashion. "You can work the bar, if you want. I'll cover your tables."

Kurt looked up at his friend.

He was tall - not exactly Finn, but he still towered over the rest of the staff - his almond curved eyes were a soft brown as dark as the cocoa packaged away in the boxes strewn around them, and he smiled with lips a little too full for his weather roughened face. In the four years they'd known one another, Kurt had always known he was using Jamie. Using him to substitute several missing gaps in his heart.

And as proud as he was, he wasn't above admitting to himself that Noah Puckerman was one of those he had tried to replace.

But while Jamie could take over Finn's simpleton attitude, Mercedes' _hell to the nahh_ expression, Rachel's excessive enthusiasm…for a while even managing the loving boyfriend role…he had never quite been able to measure up to the 'Noah' space. It wasn't his fault - he'd tried, Kurt was sure of that - but the fact was some friendships are just unique.

How could Jamie fill the role of bully-turned-best-friend, if he'd never been the bully? Even as boyfriends there had never been the same passion that filled Kurt's friendship with Noah, which burned more deadly than Rachel Berry's love of Broadway.

It was beyond optimistic to think Jamie could be everything to him.

"Thanks, Jamie," he whispered, and Jamie, knowing not to push him, reached up to squeeze his shoulder once before turning and waltzing out of the storage room, leaving the door open in his wake.

**RWRWRW**

_"Are you really going to sulk like a three year old, Puckerman? I mean, I know you have the mental capacity of one, but if you could at least attempt some maturity-"_

_"I will sit here as long as I like, Hummel."_

_Kurt rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and stalking to the door, where he proceeded to beat a single clenched fist against the wood._

_"I could have you _fired_ for this, Schuester!" he screamed through the glass panel, pressing his head against the door in an attempt to peer around the corner and see if their glee instructor was still there. "This is unlawful imprisonment, and mark my words, I will have _you_ locked up for doing this! Mr Schuester! Locking people up is not the answer to your inability to control your students! I am refuse to apologise. And I am _not _shaking his filthy paw!"_

_His hand was starting to hurt, but he continued to repeatedly hit the door anyway._

_"For god's sake, will you stop that!" Noah shouted, rubbing his fingers through his mohawk in his annoyance, elbows pressed into his knees as he sat on the floor in the corner of the room._

_"NO!" Kurt shrieked, "I WILL NOT!"_

_Noah groaned into his palms as the smaller boy returned to his incessant bitching at the door, behind which Noah was fairly certain Mr Schuester had appointed a couple of guards to make sure they didn't kill each other._

_Was this what it had really come to? Their teacher locking them in the choir room while everyone enjoyed the leisure of the auditorium, simply because they couldn't find it in themselves to dance next to each other?_

_Not that he was apologising. And Hummel was right - there was no way they were shaking hands._

_"Hummel, you aren't doing _any_ good. Stop it before you break your hand."_

_"Like you care!" Kurt snarled over his shoulder, hitting the frame extra hard, then regretting it as he winced, staring at his fingers as he shook them gently, wondering whether or not he should be worried by the bluish tinge they were slowly turning. He glanced back towards the jock in the corner, who had removed the petulant pout from his face and was now smirking broadly at him. "What?"_

_"That hurt, didn't it?" Noah asked, flashing teeth in his triumphant grin. Kurt shook his head firmly, glowering at him. "Yes it did," Noah corrected him, standing up and sauntering towards the smaller boy, who seemed to back into the wall fearfully without removing the _bitch please _expression from his pale featured face. "Cool it, Hummel, I won't hurt you," Noah promised. "You already did that for me," he added, indicating Kurt's hand._

_"Don't!" Kurt attempted to screech, but Noah, expecting him to try step away, reached down quickly and snatched his wrist, pulling up his hand for closer inspection. Kurt froze, intensely aware of how easy it would be for the footballer to take advantage of his weak position. "Let go," he demanded, and he blushed at how pitiful he sounded even in his own head._

_"My god, Hummel, you're a stubborn bitch," Noah shook his head as he muttered - was he _amused_ by this? Kurt wondered at Noah's almost-smile of victory. "Couple more hits like that and you'd have given yourself a boxer's fracture."_

_"Piss off," Kurt brooded, mumbling under his breath. "And leave me alone, Puckerman!"_

_"Fine, fine," Noah raised his hands up in innocent surrender, still smirking as he backed away. "Just don't it again. I'm not helping you bandage up your hand."_

_"Don't tell me what to do, Puckerman." Kurt glared at the boy, and simply to prove his point, he ignored the protesting shout the taller boy threw him as he raised his hand, clenched his fist again, and slammed it hard into the door. The resounding crack that shot lightning up his arm was followed immediately by Kurt's voice, louder than ever. "Fuck!"_

_And Noah, unable to contain himself, burst into a fit of hysterical laughter._

_Kurt, on the other hand, unwanted tears welling in his eyes as he stared at his bruising hand, began to tremble. "Stop it, Puck!" he shouted, too panicked to hate himself for using the boy's nickname. "It's not funny! It hurts!"_

_And Noah, ever the gentleman, proceeded to laugh harder._

_"PUCK!" Kurt watched as his entire arm began to tremble. He gripped his wrist tightly, trying to stop the tremors, but they continued to shiver up and down from the tip of his middle finger to his shoulder joint. "Ow," he mumbled to himself, and he couldn't even bring himself to wipe away the tears that began to fall._

_Puck, calming himself down, looked up from where he stood, doubled over with his hands on his knees, and the grin began to slide off his face._

_"Oh shit…" he groaned. Almost…_rushing_ to Kurt's side, he took the boy's hand in both his own and began inspecting with a surprising measure of scrutiny. "Hummel," he said firmly, talking over the badly contained stinging sobs. "When we get you to the nurse, remember to tell them I didn't do this, ok? I am not getting suspended or put in detention for something I didn't do, you hear me? _Puck. Did. Not. Do. This._ Say it after me- PUCK DID NOT-"_

_"I know!" Kurt snapped, wrenching his hand back towards his own chest and flinching as it began to throb violently. "Ow!"_

_"Hey!" Noah resumed Kurt's earlier antics, rapping sharply on the door - this time properly, so as to avoid any injuries of his own - "'E'scuse me! Hey, someone! Homo's broken his hand, here! Oi!"_

_When still no-one answered, Noah sighed in exasperation before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Tapping into his contact list, he held it to his ear and hummed in the back of his throat, glaring at Kurt, who was still trying to control his whimpering._

_"Finn!" he cried in relief when finally a confused _Err, Puck?_ answered on the other end. "Tell Schue great plan. Fairy broke his hand trying to break down the fucking door. Someone needs to let us out. No, it's not a trick! No! I-Finn-Wait-I-NO! I didn't! I swear! He did it himself! Come on, man, just…yeah? Thanks. Hurry up. If I have to listen to any more of his whining I'll _die_."_

_Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Noah looked over to meet the angry glare of Kurt Hummel, purplish hand cradled into his stomach, face set stonily into _I Hate You _mode._

_"What?" he shrugged. "Be grateful, dude. Someone's coming now. And make sure they know it wasn't me!" he pointed fiercely at Kurt, who flinched backwards in alarm._

_"Puckerman, you suck at making someone feel better."_

_"Yeah, well, Hummel, you just suck."_

_And Kurt, torn between hating the boy in front of him and taking care of his hand, wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to the smirk that twitched in Noah's expression as they both tried to ignore the innuendo behind his words._

**RWRWRW**

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Puck?"

Having joined the rest of the dancers down in the main lounge, Noah found himself in a sort of warped paradise. He was slouched in the comfiest chair he could find, a nameless cocktail in his hand, being told to do nothing at all other than watch a group of (mighty fine) dancers rehearse their routines for several hours.

Time was flying as his eyes roamed from buttock to buttock, chest to chest, taking in the sight of every shape and size of dancer to be found in Red Miller's Lounge. He had chatted up every female performer, sized up every male one, competed in a guitar-solo-off with three of the musicians, sang an impromptu duet with Georgie (while silently reminiscing about the glory days of New Directions), had heard a lot about the owner of the joint (a relatively soft hearted businessman, no less, by the name of Ollie Fitzgerald) but was yet to meet him, and had been taught how to mix most of the drinks that were listed at the bar.

"Nowhere, sweetheart," Noah shrugged to himself, pulling his best _Pity me, I'm a kicked puppy_ expression. "All alone for another…" his eyes found the clock above the bar on the other side of the room, but he found he didn't really care. "For a while yet."

"Well," she continued, slumping into the seat beside him and draping an arm over his shoulder. "If you're really going to be sticking around, you'll need a job, right?"

Noah's ears pricked at her words, and he sat up a little straighter, setting his glass down on the table his feet were propped up on and listening more closely. "Uh-huh," he encouraged her.

"Hey guys, we like Puck, right?" she abruptly hooted at the top of her (admittedly) loud voice.

A chorus of _Yeah!_ and _Hell yeah!_ and _Definitely!_ and _We love you Puck!_ followed her words, at which Noah blew several kisses towards the group congregated on the stage as they cleaned up the mess made during their rehearsal.

"So, we have bar girls, but we don't have any guys…"

Noah grinned, nodding desperately.

"You mean it?"

"Hell yeah, sweetheart!" she cried. "Ollie's been wanting more serving staff. And if we ever need a fill in, you can play, can't you? And sing. Perfect. Requirements fulfilled."

She shrugged simply, as if life was always so easy. And though somewhere in the back of his head Noah heard a voice telling him it was a bad idea - a voice distinctly similar to that of Kurt Hummel, of course - he took the hand held out to him and shook it firmly.

"When do I start?"

**RWRWRW**

_"Mr Schue? You wanted to see me?"_

_The Spanish teacher, who was hunched over a pile of papers waiting to be graded, pen in one hand and forehead in the other, looked up at the unsure mumble of his name, and a crease in his brow smoothed a little as he smiled softly._

_"Puck, come in," he gestured to the seat on the opposite side of his desk, throwing down his pen and running a hand through his hair as he swallowed a yawn and stretched. He'd been sat there for god knew how long, he needed a break, anyway. "Miss Pillsbury told me you didn't go to your career guidance meeting," he informed the boy with a stern eye and a sympathetic expression._

_Noah's shoulders tensed a little before he slouched further into his chair and shrugged._

_"So?"_

_"So," Will insisted, "This is a big thing, Puck. Graduation isn't far away, and you need to start thinking about your future."_

_"Mr Schue," Puck said in a bored monotone. "I already have all my plans. I don't need 'guidance', or shit like that."_

_"Language," Will bristled, but his eyes softened even further, and he leaned across the desk, placing a hand flat on the table, as if reaching out to the boy. "Well, what's the plan, Puck?"_

_Noah's eyes fell to his teacher's hand, finding it hard to hold his gaze. Because Mr Schue _knew_. He knew what Noah's plans were already, had probably guessed what he'd do before Noah had decided for himself. But he wanted him to say it out loud, to admit it to his face._

_An angry crimson burned in his tanned cheeks._

_"Travelling."_

_Will sighed. He knew exactly what travelling meant._

_"Anywhere in particular?"_

_Noah shrugged petulantly. "Around."_

_"Around," Will repeated._

_He searched the boy's face, willing him to look up, but Noah's eyes remained firmly planted on the desk instead. He had known Noah Puckerman for a long time, had taught him Spanish all his high school life. And despite the front he put up, Will liked him. He loved all his glee kids, but even he had to admit he didn't particularly _like _all of them by default in the same way. And though it had taken a while…he had grown to like Puck a lot. "Looking for anything in particular?"_

_That gained his attention. Noah looked up at him with hard hazel eyes that dared him to say more._

_And for some reason, Will accepted the challenge._

_"I understand, Puck."_

_"No you don't," Noah snapped sullenly, blinking fast and averting his gaze._

_"Yes. I do."_

_"Like hell you do!" Noah exploded, throwing his arms out wide in a gesture of pure frustration that caused the teacher to wince. "You don't know shit! Finn, he just listens to what all the adults tell 'im. He lets people tell him what to think half the time! And you! You just think singing songs is going to fix us all; like a couple of Beatles numbers and a Journey medley will make it all better. And Carole! She just…_

_"She just does her thing, and pats me on the head like I'm some stupid kid who doesn't understand. And I hate it! I fucking hate it." His breaths were heaving in and out, chest rising and falling sharply. Will didn't have the heart to reprimand him for his language this time. "Well screw you all. Do what you like. But when I graduate? I'm getting the fuck out of here and I'm not coming back. Not until I find him. Because unlike all of you, I actually _care _about him-"_

_"Kurt?" Will asked quietly, and he didn't miss how Noah flinched at the name. When the boy remained stubbornly silent, Will supplied, instead. "Puck, I know you're hurting. But you can't…you can't throw your life away looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. Kurt wouldn't have wanted you to waste your time on him._

_"Whatever was going through his head when he left…whatever is going through his head right now…if he changes his mind, he knows where his home is. Please, Puck," Will reached out to the boy again, but Noah only leaned further back. "You have a lot of people who care about you. Just like Kurt. Just think about what you'd be doing to Finn…to Mrs Hudson…to your own mom. Your sister?"_

_"Don't you bring my family into this!" Puck ordered, pointing a sharp finger at the older man. "You don't know them."_

_"You're right," Will nodded in agreement. "I don't. But I know you, Puck. And I saw how you were with Quinn when she was pregnant. I can see that family is everything to you, and I'd be willing to bet you care a lot more about the people you love than you let on."_

_Noah simply glowered at him._

_Will sighed, sounding defeated. He threw his arms up in surrender, letting his hands fall limply into his lap._

_"I can't make your decisions for you, Puck."_

_Noah snorted in agreement, as if amused at the idea of Will trying to do anything of the sort._

_"But I want what's best for you, just like your family, and just like your friends. I know you're too proud to ask for help when you need it. Most of the glee kids…they know who they can turn to, and even if some of them are reluctant, they know when to admit they can't do something alone. You're not like that, I know, I get it. You're the same as Kurt was-"_

_"He's not fucking dead!" Puck bellowed, but Will closed his eyes and breathed deeply once before continued without comment. No sense in baiting the hungry lion._

_"I had to pretty much force a confession out of him to get him to admit when his bullying was getting too much for him. You can't bottle things up, Puck. You need to talk to somebody."_

_Noah, in full pigheadedness, threw his teacher his best sarcastic bitch face. Kurt may not have been around to witness it, but he was still making full use of the lessons he'd taught him during their friendship._

_"And I'm willing to be that somebody. If you think someone else is better suited to the job? Well, that's fine, too. But talk, Puck. Don't just run away._

_"If you're patient, maybe Kurt will find his way home in his own time. When he's ready."_

_Noah growled darkly under his breath, pressing his lips together so the noise vibrated in the back of his throat._

_What he hated most was that the words made sense to him. It would have been so much easier to reject his teacher's logic if he disagreed, but he didn't. He knew Mr Schuester was right, and he hated it._

_He looked up to see, as the silence stretched, Will had returned to marking papers, eyes firmly on the wrongly worded Spanish verbs in front of him._

_"Ok," Noah whispered softly, the two reluctant letters barely ghosting his lips._

_And at a glance it would seem Will hadn't heard him, continuing to tick and cross and reword in red ink line by line without pausing. Only the small smile that curled his lips upwards indicated he had heard the boy, and that he was pleased by his success._

**RWRWRW**

Noah returned to the apartment (getting lost several times on the way, having only walked from Red Miller's to Kurt's home once before, and had been really quite drunk at the time) with light feet and a bright, optimistic smile plastered onto his face. The front door, to his relief, was unlocked, and it swung open wide at a single push, revealing the same ratty living as before.

At a glance it appeared empty, but then Noah heard a voice speaking, and he spotted Kurt standing at the window, phone in hand as she stared out to the sky above, his back to the room. He hadn't noticed Noah's return, too absorbed in his phone call, and Noah shut the door behind himself with a quiet snap.

"I'm calling, _Mister Lemming_, to inform you that until you get your act together, Susie won't be returning to work. You hear me?"

Noah frowned. Kurt's voice was authoritative, patronising and cold, and as he watched the slender man pressed his forehead to the glass of the window, sighing down the phone as he grew impatient with whatever reply this Mr Lemming was relaying to him.

"Billy!" he bellowed abruptly, and Noah jumped in surprise. "Get it into your head, you Neanderthal-" Noah bit back a chuckle at the term, not wanting to disturb bitch-Kurt mid argument. "-Susie came home with a bruise on her face. You missed that, huh? A big fucking-ass bruise with blood and a lump the size of Mount Everest. She is not working tomorrow, ok?"

Kurt paused again, leaning into his hips and tapping his foot as he listened indignantly to the reply.

"Take your apologies and shove them up your ass, Lemming! I'm coming by tomorrow, and I expect to pick up Susie's bonus. And I want more than a measly fifty this time. You have cash to burn, Lemming, we both know you do. You will pay Susie her usual Saturday night wage, plus a bonus, and you will pay her Monday's wage, but she isn't working until Tuesday. Do you underst- No! This is not a negotiation, Lemming. You can't get around this one! She is a person. You hear me? A human being, Billy. You can't treat her like a rag doll, you sick freak-"

Noah almost wanted to take the phone away from Kurt as he worked himself up into a fit of fury, beating his fist against the window frame in a way that made Noah smile fondly at an old memory.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good! I should hope so. Goodbye, Billy."

Kurt, upon ending his call, dropped the phone unceremoniously to the floor and turned around, his eyes pressed hard into his palms. He was still wearing his work uniform, simple black trousers and shirt, name badge in place, but he had taken off his shoes, which Noah now saw had been left at the foot of the sofa.

The smaller man took three steps forwards before removing his hands from his face, at which point he finally realised he was not alone, and presently let out a shriek of surprise, nearly stumbling over onto the floor as he leapt backwards in shock.

"Noah!" he cried, and Noah tried his best not to smile too enthusiastically at the way Kurt's voice sounded his name.

"Err hi," he replied awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"What are you- I mean- Where have you been? It's almost six o'clock."

"I was over at your work, you know, Red Miller's? I had to pick up my stuff." He indicated the three bags and guitar case that he had left a foot inside the doorway, smiling simply.

"You've been there all day?" Kurt asked suspiciously, pursing his lips.

"Well, yeah," Noah said in an uncharacteristically meek tone. "I didn't exactly have anywhere else to go. Susie showed me how to get there, and then your friend Georgie got me my stuff, and then she offered to show me around. We hung out. It was cool." The rippling tension rolled over him in stifling waves.

"I see," Kurt replied shortly. "Well, I got you the spare duvet and sheet for the sofa. You'll need to use the cushions instead of pillows - we have no extras. Susie'll be back about eight o'clock, probably. Then we'll eat. It won't be much, just grilled sandwiches or something."

Noah felt his brow crease. Since when did Kurt Hummel eat grilled sandwiches? For as long as he'd known Kurt, he'd only ever settled for the very best.

Finn was the grilled sandwich boy of the family.

"Ok…"

"Well, I guess that's it for now. I'll just be-"

"Kurt, wait. Don't go," Noah insisted. Kurt stopped in his tracks, cheeks flushed and eyes turning to him with hesitant expectance.

"Yes?"

"Can we talk?"

Noah rarely asked for things, and that in itself was enough to make Kurt pause rather than snap a witty retort. He eyed the sofa for a moment before sitting in it, petting the space beside him to make his friend sit, too. Noah perched warily, eyes never leaving Kurt's face.

"What do you want to talk about, Noah?"

"Just…I don't know. What was the phone call about?"

Small talk. They both hated it.

"Susie's work. Her boss is a Grade A Bastard, and she's a pushover when it comes to herself. She'll fight to the death for her friends, but she doesn't like kicking up a fuss when people mistreat her. So I do it for her."

"Oh," Noah said. He drummed his fingers along the line of his knuckles. "How long have you been living with her?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. He wondered vaguely how long Noah would keep up the chitchat, and supplied an answer just to keep the façade.

"I met her my first night in Chicago, about…two months after I…left," he spoke delicately, eyes flitting between his hands and Noah's face, which remained expressionless, controlled. "She was having an argument with her boss, Billy, in the street. He eventually left her outside, and I went over to talk to her, because she was crying on the floor. We introduced, and I offered to walk her home. She told me I could stay…and I just never left. Got a job - Red Miller's first, then the café job to keep the money coming - and never looked back."

Simple as that. Done and done. Sorted.

Noah fought to keep his eyes from narrowing in distaste.

So, that was it, was it?

"What about you?" Kurt asked softly, when it became clear Noah didn't have a reply.

"After graduation I stuck around Lima for a while. Worked in the garage-" he purposefully searched Kurt's face at the information, and was disappointed by the lack of response he received at the words. "-then about three years ago I packed up and travelled. Went all over for a while. New York, other places, you know, the usual cliché. Settled in Philadelphia nearly two years ago, just a tiny place. I had a dumb office job, and I played gigs in the local bar, did some busking. Got word from Santana, packed my shit, hopped on a train and now I'm here."

He waited for Kurt to absorb his tale, clear blue eyes squinting, as if trying to picture Noah Puckerman working an office job. It was, Noah admitted, a comical idea. But the truth, nonetheless. He knew the only chance he had at rebuilding some semblance of friendship with Kurt was by sticking to the truth.

"I see," Kurt nodded. "And now?"

Much more sincere than the morning's conversation. This time he meant it. This time he actually cared.

"Now…" Noah sighed, pushing his lips into a round 'o' and exhaling slowly as he thought about it. "Not like there's much hanging for me in Philie, is there? Quit my job, I can busk anywhere-"

"You quit your job?" Kurt cried, leaning backwards in alarm. Noah paused, looking confused. "You quit. Your job?" Kurt repeated, looking scandalised.

"Hated it anyway," Noah twisted his lips into a nonchalant grimace. "Stupid call centre. And Chicago's a nice place. Plus I got a job, so-"

"Already?" Kurt looked, if possible, even more upset. Noah tried his best not to be offended, but it was a hard feat.

"Yeah," he snapped defensively. "Just a bar job, but it'll pay. And I can busk, too. Kurt, I know you don't want me here, but I'm not leaving. You can't-"

"Where are you working?" Kurt interrupted, and quivering anger lined his face, around his narrowed eyes and pinched lips, between his frowning eyebrows and along his scrunched nose.

Noah cringed, shoulders tensing and stomach muscles cramping.

"Red Mill-"

"You bastard!" Kurt shrieked before Noah could even complete his confession. He scrambled backwards as Kurt began beating him around the head and neck, sharp, open palmed slaps meeting his shoulders, his scalp, his cheeks, the back of his neck, his chest… "How dare you?" he cried. "How dare you - you - Why? You come here," he sobbed dryly. "Invade my _home_. And now you invade my _job_? Noah, this is my life! you can't-"

"Well maybe it shouldn't be!" Noah bellowed, standing up and backing away from the screaming man.

"You _what_?" Kurt demanded, leaping to his feet, crouched like a tiger.

"Maybe you shouldn't be here, Kurt! Maybe you should come…should just-"

"Should what, _Noah_? Come home?" Kurt simpered, tone condescending and the curve of his lips full of malice. "Well guess what, _Puckerman_. I am home! This is my home!" He waved his arms around the meagre space of a living room, towards the tiny kitchen and pointing to the miniscule hallway down which the bathroom and his bedroom lay. "I live here, Noah. This is my life. And you can criticise it all you like, but I am _happy_, believe it or not!"

"Well I don't believe it!" Noah shouted back, striding around the room and glaring at each inanimate object in turn before refocusing his attention on the man stood in the middle of it all. "I don't!"

"Good for you!"

"Come home!"

"NO!"

Noah kicked the overstuffed armchair angrily, fists clenching and unclenching in time with his racing heart, which was tattooing his aggravation into his ribcage.

"So this is your plan, is it?" he asked darkly. "Work in some whorehouse shithole until you-"

"Did you just call me a whore, Noah Puckerman! I am _not_ a whore!"

Kurt picked up one of his shoes, still beside the sofa, and threw it at Noah. It smacked him in the shoulder, but Noah ignored the pain with little more than a hiss under his breath.

"I perform, Puckerman! I dance. And I sing. And I make people laugh. And I meet new people every night. I don't _fuck_ them. They don't _touch _me. I don't sell myself like a cheap slut." The tears clinging to his eyelashes dropped, and he found himself hating the man before him even more.

How often had he cried in the past forty twenty-four hours because of Noah Puckerman?

Too often. Far too often.

"Maybe it's not Broadway," he cried, reaching up to the heavens above and shouting his words to them. "But it's enough for me. You hear me? It's enough for me, Noah! And if it's enough for me, it's enough for you. Don't tell me how to live my life!"

He expected insults.

Something along the lines of being a coward, of giving up, of being stupid. Something. Instead Noah looked upon him with pity, and his eyes shone brighter than ever.

And then Noah sighed a little sigh. A defeated, sad little breath of sorrow that shot poison to Kurt's heart.

"Red Miller's?" Noah asked quietly. "Talk about selling yourself short." He sounded bitter. Not angry, not argumentative. Just disappointed. "What would your dad say if he knew, Kurt?"

And Kurt had to bite his tongue to keep from letting the agonised scream he wanted to unleash upon the man only a few feet away from him.

Swallowing his anger, his eyes remained cool as he spoke in a deadly tone, and once he'd finished he didn't stay long enough to watch the lonely tear trickle down Noah Puckerman's cheek.

"My dad is _dead_, Noah. He isn't saying _anything_."


	6. Questions Without Answers

**Title****: Red Windmills**

**Summary****: Kurt Hummel has always been good at running away. And Noah? …Noah has always been good at chasing him, to the ends of the earth if he had to.  
>Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...<strong>

**Pairings****: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...also, Blaine isn't going to feature at all for some time, we don't think…]**

**Chapter Warnings****: Offensive language, [violent] sexual refernces, S&M implied**

**Reviews are rewarded with hugs and love, so keep those fingers typing!**

_**Italics are flashback scenes. **__**NOTE: Not sure how it's been implied/stated so far, but to clear things up - Kurt left during senior year. It is now about four and a half years later.**_

6) Questions Without Answers

If nothing else, Kurt could not deny that Noah Puckerman's badass presence could always be counted upon to keep you out of harm's way.

Their Sunday evening explosion had left them with several hours to tend to their wounds in private before Susie returned home, by which time they had both cleaned themselves up enough to pull off _presentable_. She had sensed the tension, of course - a genius wasn't needed to identify the elephant swamping their cramped apartment - but had kindly refrained from commenting on it.

She bade them both goodnight with a sternly searching look for Noah and a tiny smile of encouragement for Kurt. And before either of them could register that they were alone again, Kurt had dumped their dirty dishes in the sink and hastily returned to his room, leaving Noah to undress and curl under the lumpy duvet on the sofa in a haunting, contemplative silence.

Monday morning had seen both Kurt and Susie out of the door before eight o'clock, a note pinned to the fridge telling Noah to help himself to breakfast, use the money on the counter to buy eggs and bread, and a promise that Kurt would be home not long after five o'clock.

And the day had passed without much ado. Noah wasted a good hour or so strolling leisurely in the best estimated direction of the shops, returning with twelve eggs and two loaves of bread before midday, and for the most part he lazed the day away, guitar strings under fingers, soft songs on his lips.

It was perhaps this, the crooning of songs of the past under his breath, that stopped Kurt from letting forth another outburst. Instead, upon returning home, he closed the front door behind him as quietly as possible, enjoying soft murmur of David Bowie's _Heroes _in silence right up until the last chord, at which point he brought his palms together _one two three_ in slow applause.

Noah, who had been unaware of his company, flinched, guitar almost slipping from his hands.

And so they had decided that rather than fight, they would make use of the fact Noah didn't start work until Tuesday and Kurt had taken the night off.

Which is what brought them to one of Chicago's darker streets, standing outside an obnoxious, flashing neon sign, the letters _ATJ _flickering on and off in quick, lightning blue, and is what had Kurt feeling ever thankful for his friend's presence.

"Kurt, where the fuck are we?" Noah demanded.

"Shh!" Kurt ordered, eyeing the bouncers that flanked the door with a hesitant gaze. "Just follow me, and don't say anything."

Noah found this to be quite a task. Walking up to the door, he took in the pictures plastered to the surrounding walls for maximum promotion, men and women, and unlike outside Red Miller's, these pictures were not tactfully fascinating. This wasn't a burlesque want of sex.

This was just sex.

_"Kurt!"_ Noah cried again, grabbing the smaller man's arm in an attempt to haul him backwards away from the door, which the bouncers, upon seeing him, automatically swung open for him. It unnerved him that Kurt seemed well known. "What, so you aren't one, but you have no problem hiring them?" he muttered darkly in a pale ear, but Kurt shoved him away, looking disgusted.

"Of course not, Puck. Come on."

And Noah, still confused, and hurt by the nickname, followed with wide hazel eyes, lips parted in an apprehensive gape.

Kurt steered his way through the crowds without a fuss, all the while holding the front of Noah's shirt and pulling him firmly, leaving Noah to trudge at a plodding pace, eyes on his surroundings.

And what surroundings they were…

Glitter long stamped into the floor left the entire space sparkling with the diamonds that the girls on the stage seemed to be singing about. There were three of them at the forefront of the stage, their male counterparts higher up, all scantily clad as they danced a routine that, if nothing else, Noah had to acknowledge was a decent piece of choreography.

Lining the back row of the stage was a series of poles, all of which had attached to it at least one warm body.

The rhythm of the music was pulsing through the air, the vibrations in the floor causing Noah's legs to tremor whenever they stopped moving. The crushing, sweaty air surrounded them, and Noah gasped, searching for a cool breeze that was never going to come, but Kurt ploughed through the dancers all raving to the beat.

"Kurt!" Noah found himself calling out through the pressing bodies surrounding them. Sweat was trickling down his back, sticking to his shirt, and they'd not been in three minutes.

But Kurt paid no heed to cries, ordering him to _Hurry up!_ over his shoulder.

Before Noah could retort, their argument was cut off by a loud shriek of _KURT!_, followed by a body leaping from the side of the stage, bounding up to the pale, slender boy and grabbing his face, drawing into what Noah was horrified to see was quite an enthusiastic kiss.

Or perhaps what horrified Noah was that Kurt didn't push the man away.

"Err, Kurt?" he mumbled uncomfortably, not knowing where to look, his eyes finding a particularly busty blonde who looked ready to make out with the pole her legs were wrapped around, causing two pink spots to appear high in his cheeks.

He turned back to see a breathless, blushing Kurt hugging this stranger excitedly, crying his name into his ear.

"Damien! Oh my god, I can't believe it! I haven't seen you in…"

"Too long, baby!" the man - Damien? - squealed. He was naked but for the underwear (which Noah would have gladly declared mere Speedos with disgruntled aversion), his slim torso damp with sweat.

_Since when did Kurt hug sweaty people_? Noah thought to himself, nauseated. Where was the prim and proper Kurt Hummel who had left Lima four and a half years ago?

He found himself missing that awkward, slightly prudish boy.

"I need to find Billy! Where is he?" Kurt bellowed into Damien's ear.

And the man, shaking his hair, which looked to be dark blond in the strobe lights, out of his eyes, pointed to a door in the corner, looking bored. "Where else?" he asked sullenly, before drawing Kurt into a another kiss, though this time breaking it almost immediately.

He held up his open palm, looking expectant.

"Two kisses," he said plainly, winking.

"I am not paying you for two kisses you forced upon me, Damien," Kurt said with a grin.

"Oh come on, _Kurrrrt_," Damien half purred, half whined. "They're a bunch of tight-asses out there tonight!" He pouted, jerking his head over to the customers that filled the packed venue.

"Oh fine," Kurt sighed, digging deep into his pocket and pulling out some money, slipping it past the elastic band around Damien's hips.

The man yelped, near leaping into the air in shock. "You put a coin in there!" he screeched, one hand clenched into a fist, the other palming his groin in search of the cold metal.

To Noah's lost bewilderment, Kurt laughed, kissing Damien's cheek and leaving him to it. He grabbed Noah's shirt and began pulling him again. "Come on, if we hurry we'll be out of here before eleven o'clock."

Noah followed dumbly, finding himself unable to meet the suspicious gaze of Damien, whose eyes followed them.

_Billy_. The name rang around his head, stirring a memory.

That was the name of Susie's boss…

His eyes found the stage again, where the girls were grinding against the men, and he squinted as he tried to imagine the Kurt's willowy redheaded friend in the place of a tanned brunette who, seeing his gaze in her direction, winked. It worried him how easy it was to see Susie doing such a thing.

And his thoughts turned to Susie. Susie the way he had met her only the day before. Susie with the long red tresses and proud expression and captivating eyes of grey and green. Susie with the light laugh, sharp wit, cynical smile. Susie with the bruise on her cheek that seemed to eat up the rest of her face.

Noah found himself unable to watch the dancers as Kurt continued to lead him towards the door Damien had indicated. And he certainly didn't return his gaze to the doors that lined the walls, an ominous prickling in the back of his neck telling him he didn't want to know what happened in the rooms they led to.

**RWRWRW**

_"Okay…what about him?"_

_"Hmm," Kurt hummed unenthusiastically._

_"Kurt!" Noah whined, pulling at his sleeve. "You didn't even look!"_

_"Oh, sorry," Kurt sighed, eyes leaving the silk scarf in his hands for only a second to glance the boy standing beside a rack of brightly coloured jeans up and down once. "Sure, I guess," he shrugged._

_"Dude, you suck at this game."_

_"Sorry Princess," Kurt replied vaguely, reaching over to pat Noah's shoulder lightly. "I'm a bit busy right now."_

_"It's the exact same as the other ten billion you looked at in the last shop! You make Sexy Games no fun. That's the mark of a sad, sad life."_

_Kurt glared at him for his remark, clutching at the precious scarf - which really was the same shade of green as the others, Noah was sure - tightly to his chest and exhaling loudly through his nose. "Oh, I apologise, Noah. I didn't realise you needed support in your misogynistic, superficial, materialist rating of women from a distance. What do you want me to say? Oh yeah, Puck, I'd give anything for him to bend me right over that stool over there!"_

_He wasn't speaking loudly, but it seemed not even Kurt could quite comprehend himself actually saying such a thing. He gasped, blushing furiously and pressing his lips together, unable to return his gaze to Noah, whose entire expression lit up with pure glee. A chuckle bubbled at his lips, tickling his throat until he had doubled over in a fit of what could only be described as pure _giggles_._

_"Stop it, Noah!" Kurt hissed, casting an eye around to see if anyone had noticed them…_

_And yes, of _course _the boy in question was looking over at them. He caught Kurt's eye with a bemused look, which only caused Kurt to blush deeper and Noah to laugh harder. Kurt slapped his arm hard, but Noah reached over to place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to remain standing. The boy, seeing the close contact between the slender boy and the jock, quickly looked away, as if guilty for making eyes at a 'taken' boy._

_This only increased Kurt's humiliation, however, because he wriggled out of Noah's grip, glowering at him._

_"Noah, it wasn't that funny!"_

_"Yes - it - was!" Noah hooted, swallowing his chuckles and struggling to breathe as he followed Kurt to the counter, unaware of the disgruntled glance the shop assistant threw him before accepting Kurt's credit card._

_"You're embarrassing yourself, Noah, I suggest you shut up."_

_"Don't care - too hilarious -" Noah wheezed. "You're such a prude!" he mumbled in a husky voice in Kurt's ear, enjoying the dishonoured heat that radiated from Kurt, taking pleasure in the yelp of terror he received when his open palm found Kurt's backside in a sharp, quick smack._

_"Stop it!" Kurt begged as he gathered his shopping bags and hastily exited, rushing past several onlookers, the emotions of whom ranged from amused to disgusted - and he wasn't at all sure which one was worse, in that moment._

_No, he knew what was the worst part._

_Noah continued to grin broadly all the way to the car, occasionally snorting when he caught sight of Kurt's displeased glare shooting in his direction. _Cat licking cream _sprang to Kurt's mind every time he saw the self satisfied smirk on his friend's face, but he did his best to ignore it._

_Pointing his nose in the air, he placed his bags lovingly in the back of his car before stalking around to the driver's seat, placing his hands on the steering wheel with a vice grip as he waited for Noah to enter and buckle up._

_The radio on full blast saved him from listening to the swell of Noah's ego._

_At least, until Noah reached over and turned it all altogether._

_The silence, all the more deafening, felt awkward to Kurt, but apparently not the taller boy, who smoothly ran a hand over his mohawk, looking perfectly at ease._

_He watched the driver with amused intensity, fascinated by the slow discoloration as the blush gradually faded from Kurt's cheeks, crimson draining to porcelain like a closing flower._

_"What do you want?" Kurt snapped when he could no longer stand the tension._

_"You need to loosen up, Hummel," Noah informed him frankly. Kurt bristled, biting down hard on his lower lip._

_"You need to shut up, Puckerman."_

_"Oh don't give me that," Noah shook his words away with a wave of his hand. "What's so bad about looking at a person and admitting they're hot? Everyone does it, Kurt!"_

_But the boy continued to stare at the road ahead, his lack of response only further encouraging the jock to continue._

_"I don't see why you care so much about…about putting up a front and all that bullshit. You're Kurt freaking Hummel! Why would you care? You strut around McKinley like you own it, but you can't look at a hot guy and say _yes, I would gladly tap that_."_

_Noah shrugged. Peach pie. Easy. Nothing to it._

_So lost in the simplicity of his explanation, he almost didn't hear the mumbled reply._

_"The difference, Noah, is you don't have to worry about the girls you are attracted to beating you into your grave if they catch you staring," Kurt explained in a cold, surprisingly deep voice._

_And this time, the silence was awkward._

_It stretched._

_Kurt remained frozen, unable to look anywhere but at the empty length of road ahead. Noah couldn't sit still, drumming his fingers against one another and shifting uncomfortably in his seat._

_His eyes flitted to and fro. He was aware of his foot-in-mouth habit; it was something he was working on. This was the perfect opportunity to either prove his newfound maturity, or ruin everything._

_"But…it's just me, right? Can't we have a laugh?" His puppy eyes were pleading, but Kurt didn't look around. His blinked, and a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. "Seriously?" Noah cried, discouraged and angered by Kurt's lack of response. "You still don't trust me?"_

_"Of course I trust you!" Kurt snapped, finally wrenching his eyes from the windscreen for long enough to assure the boy with a glance of soft sky eyes. "It's not you! For god's sake, Puckerman," a burst of hysteria, almost a cough, left his lips. A sad smirk graced his pale face, flashing in the general direction of his sulking friend. "Of course I trust you, you dork."_

_"Then what?" Noah demanded._

_His scowl lifted, however, when he saw the self-conscious shrug Kurt threw him._

_"Oh my god…" Noah shook his head. "Don't tell me you're…embarrassed full stop?" he cried, looking delightedly horrified. "God, Kurt! You are a dude! You have needs! At least tell me you have the self respect to admit you get yourself off-"_

_"Noah!" Kurt screeched, nearly swerving into the wrong lane at his words._

_"Kurt!" Noah mimicked, and this time his stern smile was genuine._

_Straight A student he might be at McKinley, but it seemed Kurt Hummel was in dire need of an education of different sorts. In particular, apparently, the norms of social etiquette of a more masculine kind..._

**RWRWRW**

Billy Lemming, as it turned out, was a top of the class, one in a billion, A grade, award winning creep.

His large eyes, bunched too close above a thin, wobbly nose that looked to have been broken a good few times, peered over a pair of precariously balanced sun glasses, despite his office being even darker than the disco hall of chaos that lay outside his door. His sickly skin was illuminated by the greenish glow of his lamp, which cast unthinkable shadows over various photos and posters that filled the walls, and he spoke with lips that seemed to shrink into his teeth with each word, as if trying to hold how spoken thoughts back until the last second.

And by the cross way in which he folded his arms at the sight of his visitor, he held no affection for Kurt Hummel.

"Billy," Kurt hummed with a distasteful nod.

Billy merely raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Come on then, let's have it," Kurt held out his hand expectantly, and Billy snatched a envelope from his desk, and was about to drop in Kurt's waiting hand when he paused, bulbous eyes flickering to Noah and back again.

"Who's the friend, flexi-legs?"

Noah bit back an urge to demand just who he was calling flexi-legs, and leave his boy alone.

"A friend," Kurt replied coldly.

Billy looked Noah up and down, and Noah shuddered involuntarily, feeling nauseated.

"Nice friend," he smirked.

"Thanks," Kurt replied with a bright, sarcastic smile that seemed to take a great deal of energy to form. The airless room swallowed their breaths upon exhalation, leaving throats dry and lungs heavy. "Hand over the money, Lemming."

"Where's Susie Q?" Billy disregarded Kurt's question as if he had not spoken, looking darkly intrigued. "Cowering under her bed, is she?"

"She's at home," Kurt admitted coolly. "Away from you and your filthy paws."

"I didn't touch that bitch!" Billy roared, leaping abruptly to his feet and pointing a stubby fingernail in Kurt's sneering face. "What did she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything, Billy," said simply, and Noah was impressed by his level of calm. High School student Kurt Hummel would have lost his temper _long _ago. "But it didn't take much to guess. You might not have hit her, but you damn well set her up for it!" Kurt reached forwards, making to grab the money filled envelope from the man's hand, but he held it out of reach behind him.

"Nah-ah-ah!" he taunted, shaking it teasingly. "When's Susie coming back?"

"Like I told you on the phone, you ignoramus," Kurt grumbled through gritted teeth, and though Noah, standing by the door, couldn't see his expression, he could imagine the narrow slits of eyes and the wrinkling scowl creasing his features. A protective surge of warmth flowed through him and he took an involuntary step forward, just in case this Billy character decided to take a strike at his boy. "She's coming back Tuesday. Though I know you struggle with complex matters like weekdays, so in simple terms. _Tomorrow_."

Billy leered a wordless mimic at Kurt as he tossed the envelope over, hitting him square in the chest. Kurt caught it as if he had known exactly when to react, but rather than leave now his prize was to hand, he stepped forwards, leaning over - actually moving _towards _this freak! - to whisper dark words into Billy's pricked ears, each one pierced several times, metal hoops and studs weighing him down at each lobe.

"…_you got that_?" Was all Noah managed to catch, however, and he hastily stepped aside as Kurt turned on his heel, haughty expression pulling at his tense features, and automatically Noah slung an arm over his shoulders to lead him out of the office.

"Nice to meet you, friend of Kurt!" an amused voice followed them, and Noah's grip around Kurt's shoulders tightened instinctively as he turned around for long enough to flip the man a very rude - though highly appropriate - gesture.

"Let's just go," Kurt mumbled, and in his embrace Noah could feel him trembling with badly contained rage. Kurt reached up, and for a moment Noah panicked, thinking he was shrugging his touch away. Instead, however, Kurt grasped his hand tightly, their fingers locking together as if they'd never let go all those years before, dragging him away as fast as he could squeeze through the crowd, ignoring the hot, heavy breaths and the hot, heavy bodies surrounding them.

"Kurt," Noah cried, but was forced into silence as Kurt tugged hard on his hand, wordlessly pleading for him to hurry up. And, in true friend style, Noah understood the message perfectly.

Gathering Kurt back into a half embrace, he drew his brow together in an intimidating scowl, flexing his guns and letting his back stoop into a predatory stance as he parted the crowd with far greater ease than Kurt's slender bodied elbowing had done.

"Kurt," he panted once they'd escaped the stifling club. A group of young men, all sporting matching polo shirts and cut off trousers, eyed them suspiciously as they, grumbling, produced ID cards for the bouncers to inspect with surprising scrutiny before letting them through. Noah glared at them, keeping hold of Kurt and tugging gently this time, easing him away with less force than before.

The stony expression and straight-legged walk was all Noah had to observe to know just how angry Kurt was.

Unfortunately, however, Noah was yet to perfect his social reading skills, and he spoke in a hard, demanding voice that had Kurt's already tense jaw clenching visibly.

"Who was that prick?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, slowing down his hasty stalk but still not looking away from the floor.

"That," he said in a resigned tone, "Was Mr. Billy Lemming. Susie's boss, and owner of All That Jazz, the most successful strip club in the area. Perhaps Chicago, who knows." Kurt shrugged nonchalantly; it didn't really matter how successful Billy was, he was still an asshole.

"Just a strip club?" Noah quirk an eyebrow, and Kurt swallowed uncomfortably, teeth worrying his lower lip.

"Officially," he said, suddenly a lot quieter.

"And unofficially?" Noah pushed, already knowing what the answer would be, but he wanted Kurt to say it out loud for himself.

"And unofficially the authorities turn a blind eye because he offers them good deals."

The night wasn't particularly cold, meaning Noah couldn't blame the shiver that ran down his spine on the chilly air.

"And Susie works there."

"Yes, Noah, Susie works there," Kurt snapped defensively.

"Susie is a prostitute."

"A performer."

"A whore."

"No!" Kurt bellowed, stopping in the middle of the street to glare, finger pointing much like Billy's had done to him not ten minutes before. "You don't understand."

"Why would she…why doesn't she have a job like _you_, or _whatever…_why would…" Noah puzzled aloud, trying to make sense as he envisioned the redhead waiting for them three streets away as they'd left her, curled on an armchair with Virginia Woolf's _To The Lighthouse_ in one hand and a cup of hot tea in the other, a packet of indulgent biscuits open in her lap, red hair bunched at the nape of her neck and face clean…but for that ugly bruise.

It just didn't fit.

"Like I said," Kurt huffed, "You don't understand."

"You're right, Kurt. I don't." And he didn't like that he didn't understand. It worried him that so much could have changed since Kurt upped and left; how he could be so very much the same, and yet Kurt could be so different. He was still unsure whether or not he liked the changes - all _or _any - that he was seeing.

"What am I supposed to say, Noah?" A simple question with a virtually impossible answer. _What's the meaning of life, Noah? Why do you believe in God, Noah? Why are you such a mean person, Noah?_

"An explanation would be nice," he pushed gently.

Kurt's gaze faltered, leaving his face and turning to cast his eyes up and down the street in search of something. Finally he spotted what he sought, and with a quick beckoning of the hand he began to walk towards an all night café at the bottom of the street.

"We need to get-

"Do you want an explanation or not?"

And Noah fell silent, choosing instead to hurry after his friend.

**RWRWRW**

_"Are you ok?" Kurt asked._

_The woman, who'd introduced herself as Susie, had finally let him help her up off the floor. Closer now, he could see a dribble of blood drying from the corner of her mouth to the curve of her chin, sticky and shiny. Her cheeks were damp with black tear stains, her eyelashes clumped together and barely open thanks to the gummy mascara and eyeliner she had rubbed at with the heels of her palms._

_"Peachy," she replied in a soft voice, limping a little as she walked._

_"Sorry," Kurt mumbled. He'd known it to be a stupid question. "Do you live close by?"_

_"Not too far away," she replied simply._

_"Oh." Kurt couldn't think of a better answer, so he chose to return his gaze to the floor, hands straining from the weight of his bags. She hadn't told him to go away, and he was reluctant to leave her alone, so he followed, half a step behind her at all times._

_At first she paid him little heed, but eventually she glanced over at him, taking in the tired gait and the heavy eyes._

_"Just arrived in Chicago?" she asked, her scratchy voice still hoarse from her hysterical crying._

_"Yeah," Kurt admitted. He couldn't exactly deny it - what other explanation did he have?_

_"I have a place you can stay." It wasn't a question, or even an offer. Just a statement, and Kurt didn't accept. He just kept walking by her side. "Staying long?"_

_"Don't know," Kurt shrugged._

_"I see."_

_And by the tone of her voice, she really did._

_"You're English," Kurt stated dumbly, and Susie snorted._

_"Ten points for Gryffindor," she muttered darkly. "Ever considered being a detective?"_

_He wasn't offended. If anything he was impressed, sympathetic, intrigued. Sarcastic defences - he knew all about those. His mind and heart were surrounded by an abundance of them._

_"Who was that man?"_

_"My boss."_

_That, if nothing else, dragged Kurt's gaze from the floor to the woman's face._

_"You're-"_

_"Yes."_

_"Oh."_

_He hated using the word oh. It was such a useless…word? Sound? Noise? He didn't know. He didn't care._

_"You work…"_

_"At the club All That Jazz. But everyone just calls it ATJ. All That Jazz is too much of a fucking cliché. Fucking Chicago. Bob Fosse my arse."_

_She was rambling, venting her anger over something insignificant rather than confront the real problem._

_Oh! Was this woman a relative of his in some past life? A twin?_

_"Why did he hurt you?"_

_"Where have you come from?"_

_So many questions and no willing answers._

_"Are you hurt badly?"_

_"Who are you running away from?"_

_Did he really want to get stuck in this cycle? Asking questions neither wanted to provide answers for?_

_No._

_"Get a job and pay rent. The apartment's half yours if you want. You don't need to tell me anything."_

You don't need to tell me anything.

_What a welcome phrase. Had anybody in Lima ever so much as thought of using that phrase before?_

_Of course not._

_For the first time all night. All week. All month. The first time in months…Whatever the time scale, he found himself unused to the genuine smile that pulled at his lips._

_"Thank you."_

**RWRWRW**

They ordered a plate of waffles to share, an orange juice for Kurt and a coke for Noah. The stench of alcohol from club still clinging to their skin, their clothes, their hair, they had no urge for anything stronger.

A waitress with a nervous twitch in one eyebrow brought over a rattling tray, bustling away before she could so much as make eye contact with either of the men.

Once she was safely back behind the counter, Kurt was about to shift the first waffle from the pile onto his plate when Noah beat him to it, pouring the entire contents of the maple syrup jar on top of the crisp brown delicacies. Kurt's glare was replied to with a tremor of a smirk pulling at Noah's lips, and despite himself Kurt flushed a smile of sentimental delight.

Some routines could never be forgotten.

He carefully picked out the driest of the waffles, only to have Noah scrape some syrup from his own plate with his knife and smear it on Kurt's, effectively ruining his _minimal_-_calories_ plan.

"Noah!" Kurt hissed, trying to angry, but Noah's plan was working a charm on him. The frustration that had been wrapped around him like the embrace of a grizzly bear ever since setting foot in Billy's office was starting to unravel, leaving behind a relieved peace in its wake.

"Kurt?" the older man asked fondly, eyebrows raised politely in question, matching the sing-song of his voice.

"Never mind," Kurt grumbled, cutting a tiny slice of waffle and munching delicately on it.

"Well then," Noah said simply. "You were saying?"

They hadn't spoken as they entered the café, the first words they said being their order - Noah going first and automatically ordering double, so Kurt wouldn't pay for his own food - and even once they were sitting in a booth, their eyes had found more interesting things to stare at than each other, their lips apparently too tightly sealed to make conversation.

Kurt paused, swallowing his waffle before continuing and holding back a grimace as he admitted to himself how wonderful it was to taste maple syrup again. He hadn't eaten it in…he couldn't quite bear to think how long ago _that_ was.

"I met Susie the night I arrived in Chicago," he began quietly, gaze resting somewhere between the pile of food between them and Noah's plate.

"Ok…"

"I was walking through the streets in the middle of the night, I'd just got off my train. There were drunks everywhere, people shouting and being disgustingly crude," he pulled a face, aware of the way Noah's eyes rolled a little as is to say _typical!_ "And then Susie came running out of this alley, and a man - Billy - followed her, tried to drag her back to the club by her hair. And she was screaming so loudly…and then he stopped, and they talked. And then he left her on the floor, ran up to this bunch of guys milling around outside the entrance to ATJ and punched the living daylights out of one of them. The he went back to Susie, dropped some money in her lap, apparently told her to take the rest of the week off, and went back inside. So I went to see if she was ok; that's when she let me accompany her back to her flat. And I never left."

He thought he might have heard Noah mention something along the lines of _apparently…_but he didn't comment. He could see the thought process running through his friend's mind, and he waited for Noah to consider the tale before continuing.

"How did you start working at Red Miller's?" Noah sounded distrustful, and Kurt couldn't exactly blame him.

"Susie's old flatmate, Georgie, remember her?" Noah nodded as a crease of bemusement crinkled his forehead. "She was already working there, so Susie got her to talk Ollie, the manager, into giving me a job. I had to audition, and then he gave me a list of things I had to do to make sure I kept the job - the usual expectations, see how well I learn routines, can I keep up, can I work my hours well - but I got the job. I started working at the café, Castle Café, about eighteen months later, because we were barely getting by as it was and we wanted to have some more spending money. She works at an arts and crafts shop while I'm at CC."

Noah seemed to appreciate this, he looked understanding as he nodded, wolfing down the last of his second waffle and unscrewing the bottle cap, which hissed and fizzed with far greater excitement than anything else they'd heard since leaving Billy's club, and drinking deeply.

"What I don't get," he began once the lid was loosely back on the bottle, watching amused as Kurt, a guilty flash across his face, helped himself to another waffle. "Is why _you_ work at Red Miller's. _Georgie_ works at Red Miller's. And Susie's…_there_. I mean, does she _like_-"

"Noah! Of course not!" Kurt cried, appalled at such a suggestion.

"Well why is she still-"

"It's Billy," Kurt spat, lips contorting into a scowl around a delicious slice of maple syrup soaked batter. "When Susie first arrived in Chicago he picked her up off the streets - _literally _- and swept her into his arms, saved her from herself. She was only nineteen, and she needed help. Desperately. Billy gave her that help, got her the apartment and set her up peaches and cream. Then he started to use her. But she has this overwhelming loyalty to the bastard because if it wasn't for him she'd had probably thrown herself in front of a train by the time she was twenty. He exploits her guilt and gratefulness. And he knows exactly how to hit her hard about things. She hates him, but as long as he tells her to stay, she'll stay."

"That's it?" Noah cried, throwing his fork down angrily and shoving the last of his waffle into his mouth with his fingers, sucking the syrup from his hand as he frowned darkly across the table. "Shit, Kurt. No-one is that grateful for-"

"I know! It's just…it's frustrating. But she's so…she's so damn proud. And stubborn. She refuses to acknowledge she needs help. Keeps telling me _It's not so bad_ or _Don't worry about me_. I hate it."

Proud? Stubborn? Just like Kurt, then…Noah thought to himself. And, abruptly oh so very glad that Kurt was not in the same position, he reached hand over to Kurt, grasping his wrist tightly in understanding.

"We can't doing anything?" he asked. Kurt snorted indignantly, pulling hand away and returning his attention deliberately to his food.

"No, Noah, there's nothing we can do. Billy's got a huge circle of influence, not just over the cops. Susie knows that if she just walks out of him, she'd have to go job hunting in another state to get rid of him. People don't like pissing Billy off, not in this line of business. Susie isn't qualified for anything. She's a high school dropout who's spent her working life in a strip club. The only jobs she'll ever get to keep herself afloat are at the same types of places, or places like Red Miller's. Only if she leaves Billy without him wanting her to, all he has to do is pull a couple of strings and nobody in the entire city of Chicago will hire her. Jeez, if he could, I just _know_ Ollie would hire her. She's performed with us in Red Miller's a few times, and she's _amazing_. He likes her. We all like her. But…" Kurt's cold blue eyes, hardened crystals, bore deep into Noah's hazel ones, as warm as the syrup smudged on his lips.

"But?" he prompted slowly, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"_But_," Kurt continued breathlessly, and he seemed to shrink a little, small and scared, a defenceless wounded animal. "Ollie is indebted to Billy. Any time shit's kicked off at Red Miller's, the usual, fights and stuff, you know? Billy always got him out of trouble. Why? Because now Ollie owes him, and Ollie will do nothing, I mean _nothing_, to risk pissing Billy off. And because good business for Ollie means better business for Billy."

Noah threw him a questioning look, sipping his coke slowly and narrowing his eyes doubtfully.

"Look, you saw the sort that were in Red Millers, right? Lots of businessmen and rich kids looking for entertainment, right?"

"Yeah," Noah thought back to Saturday night, of all the faces that shone _money_ even brighter than their medically perfected teeth and perfectly, upper class proportioned features. Not all of them of course, but a good majority…

"Well they come to the show. They leave drunk and, let's face it, horny. They can't buy the performers at Ollie's place, so they go to the next best place, not as classy but convenient. They go to Billy's."

"Ah," Noah groaned, seeing the cogs of the wheels fitting together now, a pained expression pulling at his features.

The artificial lights above their heads were making him squint, and a headache was starting to build up at the front of his head. He stretched his neck awkwardly, too content, too happy to be _talking _instead of _shouting_ while Kurt was around, too full of syrup, to move.

"Exactly."

"So Ollie won't take her unless Billy lets her leave, which he won't do?"

Kurt nodded sadly. "Harsh world," he explained in brutal honesty, and the acceptance in his voice made Noah's fists twitch into a brief clench.

"Yeah, it is," he mumbled under his breath. "So…what's with the bruise on her face?"

Kurt didn't need to ask to clarify they were still talking about his flatmate.

"Some of the guys get rough," he growled through thin white lips and gritted teeth. "Billy keeps it clean, but it doesn't have to be peaceful. I'll give him one thing, he gets all his …_staff_," he chose the word with reluctant deliberation, "Checked regularly for STDs. Never lets them get dirty…_that way. _But there are no real rules in his joint. As long as the money's rolling in - and it always does - clients are allowed to do what they like with the girls and guys they hire. Within reason, of course. Unfortunately, Billy's idea of _within reason _is different to many people's. Including mine.

"Susie's been knocked about pretty bad before. That was what went on the night I met her. One of the guys, the one Billy beat up, had her in a room for almost half an hour, he'd roughed her up and had his hands around her throat for most of it. She was terrified. Then he dropped a ten dollar bill on the floor beside her and walked away. She was so scared she tried to quit, which is why Billy was chasing after her. When he found out what had happened he beat the guy up. Not for hurting his girl, but for not paying the money he owed."

Noah, feeling queasy, gulped down a mouthful of air and shifted uneasily in his seat.

"The worst I saw was Damien, the guy who came to talk to me tonight. A guy had him alone for over and hour. Billy had one of the bouncers bust the door open because he was only supposed to get twenty minutes."

Kurt shuddered involuntarily, and painfully Noah saw a damp shine to his eyes, sad but not quite tearful at the memory, as he swirled patterns into the remnants of syrup on his plate with a long, porcelain finger.

"What happened?" Noah asked quietly, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

"Think chains and whips and you're almost there," Kurt glowered darkly, eyes as deeply troubled as his voice. Noah's mind flashed back to the smiling young man who had launched himself at Kurt, small in height, and even slighter than Kurt, who himself had always been delicate in Noah's eyes. "Yeah," Kurt nodded, recognising the horror festering in Noah's almost-neutral expression. "Damien was unconscious, but the guy just kept going; had to be dragged off him. There was blood. Quite a lot. I'd met him a few times before, but that's how I got to know Damien. He was laid up for quite a long time. Billy refused to give him paid leave, said he could get paid once he started working again. So he stayed with us while he recovered."

"And ever since then he's been madly in love with you?" Noah asked smoothly, hoping to lighten the mood by twitching his eyebrows skyward suggestively and pouting. Kurt flushed, but didn't look embarrassed.

"Perhaps," he sighed. "He's a great guy. He doesn't deserve any of it. He's going to save up and then get the hell out of Chicago, away from Billy and away from ATJ. He's really smart, wants to be a doctor."

Noah could _feel_ the love emanating from Kurt as he spoke of Damien, but there wasn't even the barest hint of romance about it. Despite the kisses, he knew instinctively Damien would never be an 'option' for Kurt. It upset him that this pleased him so much - he felt as selfish as he had done at high school, angry at the thought of sharing Kurt Hummel with anybody.

But for some reason he couldn't find it in him to be angry at Susie for being a rival for Kurt's affection.

"And your plan?" Noah asked.

They were in a public place. Kurt would never kick off in a public place…at least, the Kurt he had known would never have done.

But who's to say what this Kurt would do?

"My plan is to go back to the apartment and sleep, Noah. I'm tired."

And Noah Puckerman, though he would never acknowledge defeat, was not stupid enough to fail to recognise a pause between battles.

They'd done well. It was almost midnight. A full day without arguing.

And tomorrow they were going to work. Together.

Dropping some money on the table, Noah walked out of the all night café with a great deal more optimism than he had entered it with, all things considered.


	7. What's My Name?

**Title****: Red Windmills**

**Summary****: Kurt Hummel has always been good at running away. And Noah? …Noah has always been good at chasing him, to the ends of the earth if he had to.  
>Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...<strong>

**Pairings****: Puckurt (friendship...mostly); eventually a Klaine romance; Puck/OC romance. [Note, Kurt did not meet Blaine in his high school years. We just love the pairing...though not as much as Puck and Kurt's friendship...also, Blaine isn't going to feature at all for some time, we don't think…]**

**Chapter Warnings****: Implied violence, language**

**Reviews are rewarded with hugs and love, so keep those fingers typing! This is just Sally right now, but Kyle sends his love…Papa Burt features, at Kyle's request…**

_**Italics are flashback scenes. **__**NOTE: Not sure how it's been implied/stated so far, but to clear things up - Kurt left during senior year. It is now about four and a half years later.**_

7) What's My Name?

Noah's first job after leaving Lima, Ohio had been, to his embarrassment, some sort of 1930s Alphabet Agency scheme position.

Shovelling gravel and laying it down, breaking up old roads to build new ones; smoothing the surface and painting the lines, tightening the edges and doing _man jobs_. Real man jobs. Hard labour at a small wage. Mostly big guys with enough muscle and testosterone to leave them all feeling alpha-driven and frustrated at the end of each working day, sweat dripping and tensions rising.

He'd slaved hour after hour for his meagre pay, and out of the fifteen or so men he worked with six days a week, he had made two friends. The first a lankier version, he realised, of Finn Hudson, who answered to the name Stanley Rodder, and would have painted the road signs backwards if he'd been given chance to make a mistake. The second was a small mouse of a man, Henry Baske, with thin mumbling lips and eyebrows constantly angled into a defensive frown. Stanley was talkative, friendly, a real peacemaker among the group, while Henry stood out like a giraffe in the Arctic from the rest of the men, his wiry frame proving him to be a twiglet beside his co-workers, who no doubt would have ripped him limb from limb if it weren't for Noah's badass protection.

The others, he had been forced to accept, were assholes.

Including him, sometimes.

He'd never settled into the job. Or the next one. Or the next one.

The Philadelphia office job he'd waved goodbye to at the first scent of a trail to Kurt had taken him weeks to feel comfortable in. And after those first weeks, comfort swiftly turned to trigger pressing, skull numbing, mind obliterating boredom.

Red Miller's, however, was another matter entirely.

By his third customer Noah felt as if he'd been at the job his whole life - and unlike the office job, fortunately, this time he meant it in a good way.

Born to charm, he squeezed money from wallets like the juice of ripe lemons with a suave smile and a few choice words for the ladies, innuendo filled humour for the men. They loved him - possibly even more than the staff did.

Well, the staff bar one individual.

Kurt had walked beside him all the way from the apartment to the lounge, but upon entering had stalked directly to the dressing room without so much as announcing their arrival, leaving Noah to search for a familiar face to be told what to do.

Ten minutes with Carley - behind the bar this time, not as a customer - and he'd got the hang of it.

He danced up and down the bar, bumped hips with the girl working by his side, be it Carley or the other girl, raven hair and cocoa toned skin, by the name of Jade, and even danced along to a few of the numbers, earning some extra tips from a group of giggling spectators (a gaggle of hen party women with eyes on every man in the room at once).

Kurt still hadn't said a word to him (hadn't even looked his way to check on him) but he paid no heed. He let the younger man stew in his sulk, maybe exert some of that frustration on the stage, and entertained himself by crowd watching whenever he had a moment of peace.

As it turned out, the customers of Red Miller's were the ultimate examples of crowd watcher gold.

The hen party were draped over the bar at the end closest to the band, all cackling hysterically as they made eyes at the guitar player closest to them, who, uncomfortable under the stare of so many (clearly oblivious) women, was trying his best to ignore them, while his boyfriend, one of the dancers, smirked in amusement at him from the stage between numbers. The bride to be, _CHERYL _tattooed to her forehead with lipstick, kept nearly falling off her stool, her legs spread wide so the left one was stretching up to rest on the bar while the right lay limp in her maid of honour's lap. Their cowboy hats were tattered and stained, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves, hooting and whooping with the music, shrieking with glee when one of their song requests was granted.

On one of the sofas on the opposite side of the room Noah watched half amused, half sympathetic, at a young couple, him ignorant as he watched the stage avidly and gulped down his drinks, her stony as she glared at him with the eyes of a girlfriend preparing to shout at her boyfriend the first private chance she had. Unimpressed by her date's lack of interest in anything but the chance of catching a glimpse up one of the dancers' skirts, the girl had returned three times to the bar without her absence being noticed. And if Noah perhaps slipped a little more vodka than was strictly necessary each time? Well, no harm done. She deserved a little something, at least.

One of his favourites to watch had been a group of what looked to be twenty-something business boys who turned up not long before midnight. They'd danced in rowdy, most drunk with anticipation (but soon something more substantial) and the group took up three of the large couches, spreading out near the front of the room. They'd crowed with delight when one of the girls - Georgie, Noah had smirked as he glanced over - actually slid off the stage and proceeded to flirt outrageously with them all, paying particular attention to one in particular. The lucky one, Noah soon realised, actually wasn't enjoying himself at all, and his friends seemed to think it a mighty waste that she had chosen to give special notice to the only one that looked genuinely uninterested by the venue. With every drink, while the majority grew more raucous, the bored one even less stricken by his surroundings, and had been the first to leave, a good half hour before any of his friends.

And then there had been Andy. Good old Andy, who Noah only knew by name because he'd introduced himself at least twelve times, and after each introduction had _regaled _the bartender with a long, in depth description of his break up with the love of his life, a girl called Chanice, who had _the most beautiful eyes _in the world and did _the most wonderful things _with her tongue. By two in the morning Noah had found himself with a bone deep hatred for the bitch. Not out of sympathy for poor ol' Andy, but because he was fairly certain if he ever heard the sorry tale again, he would likely quit his new job to look for the nearest tall roof to jump from.

So yes. Noah Puckerman found himself _enjoying _his job. He wondered vaguely if bartender could be considered a 'career', a _vocation_, even.

And from his position, watching the stage as he cleaned another glass, he let out a loud, belt of a laugh, spontaneous and hysterical. The grin on his face was and old grin. His old grin. Not a real smile, just a smooth curve of the lips, half up and half down, almost a smirk, but not quite.

A Puck smile, Kurt had called it. The Puck-smile, not half as lovely as the Noah smile.

He wasn't Noah anymore, he realised with a pang. Glancing up at the stage, empty in that moment, he saw again in his mind Kurt prancing up and down in his godforsaken glitter corset costume that he'd been wearing not half an hour before, and the Puck-smile deepened. He wasn't Noah.

He was _Puck_ all over again.

**RWRWRW**

_"Ow-fuck-ow-shit-Hum-shit-Hummel!"_

_Noah smacked Kurt's hand away with a clenched fist, leaning so far backwards he nearly fell off his chair and into the middle of the kitchen floor of the Hummel household. Kurt glowered, waiting in stubborn silence until Noah had finished his whining before dipping the cloth back into a bowl of hot water and squeezing it into a soft dampness._

_"You finished moaning?" he asked coldly, and Noah scowled, only to wince when the expression pulled at his puffy face._

_Once more Kurt pressed the damp cloth to Noah's right eyebrow, softening the scabbed blood that had crusted around his eye, clumping his eyelashes shut and pinching the skin. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, too, but he continued to pressed his fingers to the bridge of it, just in case, his split lips clamped tightly shut to hide blood stained teeth._

_"That's better," Kurt said patronisingly, stroking Noah's brow with the cloth and humming under his breath, trying his best not to grimace as the water in the bowl swelled crimson with every dip._

_Noah merely growled under his breath._

_For a while the silence was broken only by Noah's panting, Kurt's sighing, and the drip-drip-drip of trickling water._

_The clock above the cooker read not long past three in the afternoon. They'd arrived at Kurt's house some time after two, Kurt supporting a bleeding Noah; it had taken every ounce of Kurt's cheerleader strength to drag Noah away from the degrading insults that had followed them out into the car park of McKinley High._

_Kurt had sniffled all the way home, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a vice grip, and Noah would have told him to man up, but he'd been distracted by the hot, choking blood that from his nostrils over his top lip and slowly filled his mouth. He hadn't even noticed the boy hadn't taken him to his own home until he was ushered through the front door of the house._

_"You didn't have to do that," Kurt muttered under his breath, leaning a little closer to scrutinise the gash above his eye._

_"Yes I did," Noah whispered, and both boys felt heat rising up their cheeks at the proximity. Kurt felt sure he was indecently close to the straight (_straight! _he continued to shout at himself) jock, but Noah hadn't moved away, so neither did he._

_He made sure not to consider how very similar Noah's eyes were to melting honey._

_"You could get sent back, Puck," Kurt reminded him firmly, meeting his eye with dark resolve. Noah just about managed to hide the shudder of fear that rippled through him at the thought._

_"I didn't do anything."_

_"You aggravated him."_

_"Yeah, well, his face aggravates me."_

_Kurt giggled under his breath. "Me too," he admitted sadly. "But I doubt your probation officer will see it that way."_

_Kurt chose to ignore the stream of misogynistic insults that spewed from the footballer's mouth at the mention of the woman in charge of keeping him in line for the first weeks of his post-juvie life._

_"I don't want you to go back there, Puck," Kurt pleaded quietly, gaze resting on the swelling black eye that was slowly closing the boy's eye in a ring of purple to avoid really seeing whatever emotion swirled in those honey irises._

_Pity? Anger? Disgust?_

_Humour?_

_He couldn't bear the thought._

_"I'm sorry," Noah whispered, words quieter than the breath that carried them, but Kurt heard them. He wasn't sure he'd ever truly believe it was Noah Puckerman saying those two words. To him._

_His lower lip was trembling, so he bit it._

_"Thank you."_

_So wrapped in the shock at how _not_-awkward the closeness between them was, they didn't hear the front door swing and slam, nor did they notice the clump-clump of boots tramping down the hall, through the living room, stopping at the kitchen door._

_"What the hell's going on?"_

_Kurt flinched so violently he nearly knocked the bowl of bloody water over. "Dad!" he cried, an anxious smile breaking into his pale expression. "You're early."_

_"So are you," Burt Hummel replied pointedly, eyeing the letterman wearing boy sitting in front of his son with a suspicion that neither teenagers enjoyed._

_"Yeah, something happened and Puck…Dad, this is Puck. Puck, this is my dad."_

_"Puck?" Burt's eyes narrowed a little more, taking in the blood soaked cloth in Kurt's hand and the battered state of his guests' face._

_"Yes sir," Puck mumbled, looking uncomfortable. The last time he'd come close to the Hummel's house it had been to mess with the garden furniture. He wasn't sure if Mr Hummel was aware of his part in such antics, but he felt uncomfortable nonetheless._

_"I see," was the man's reply, thoughtful, if a little reluctant. "What happened?" He gestured with a vague hand to the boy's face._

_"A…fight." He opted for the truth._

_"Aren't you the kid who just got out of juvie?"_

_"It wasn't a fight, dad. Puck was _attacked_."_

_"Was not!" Noah insisted, pride hurt at the thought of being so cowardly as to admit to being a victim, rather than a willing participant._

_"Yes, Puck. You were," Kurt corrected with a stern gaze that kept the boy's buttocks planted in his seat, knowing Noah would probably try stand again to defend himself.. "I brought him back here because he didn't want to get himself checked out properly. I don't think his nose is broken, and the cut on his head isn't too bad, so-"_

_Noah wasn't too keen on the nurse role Kurt seemed to have adopted, but he knew better than to make a quip in front of the boy's father. Burt was still glancing at him with eyes full of dark intent._

_When the man took a step closer Noah instinctively backed away, pushing his chair back a few inches, and he had to hold back a scowl when Burt snorted at him. "Com'ere, kid," Burt insisted, and a quick inspection had him nodding. "Nah, not broken," ("Told you," Noah muttered, and Kurt's mouth twisted into a relieved smile that played anxious on his face.) "But you best be careful for a while. Get some ice, Kurt."_

_Kurt flustered about the freezer, scraping blocks of ice out and piling them into a sandwich bag, which he then wrapped a few napkins around._

_"What happened?" Burt asked sternly, taking Kurt's seat at the head of the table. Noah shifted uneasily, torn between betraying his almost-friend's trust and lying outright to this (quite frankly) intimidating man sitting before him._

_"Got into an argument with some of the jocks," Noah mumbled half-heartedly, and he could feel the tension rippling from Kurt in white hot waves as he accepted the bag of ice gratefully and pressed it to the middle of his face._

_"What about?" Burt Hummel could sense blood._

_Kurt looked ready to intervene, and Noah blurted out his answer before the countertenor could slip in a lie._

_"Your son."_

_"My _what_?" Burt demanded, his eyes flitting between his child and this stranger with outraged confusion._

_"I was getting the guys to lay off him."_

_"They've been hassling you again, Kurt?"_

_"Dad, it's nothing-"_

_"No, it's not, Hum…Kurt," Noah corrected. It felt wrong calling the boy by his surname in front of his father. "It's been bad. I promised you I'd help out once I got back to school. I was only keeping my word. My word is solid, dude."_

_"Noah!" Kurt groaned, and Burt leaned back in his chair, astounded, breathless with disappointment._

_"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "Kurt, damnit, how am I supposed to take care of you if-"_

_"I don't need you to-"_

_"Don't worry, Mr. H, I took care of it-"_

_"You can shut up," Burt snapped, pointing finger dangerously close to Noah's not-broken nose, and the mohawk-sporting boy cringed away abruptly._

_"Dad!" Kurt snapped. "Puck _helped _me, don't-" Noah clutched his ice bag like a lifeline, confused by where the power balance lay between this father and son. He'd never thought of Kurt Hummel as much of a guy, but now, confronting his father, Alpha male energy seemed to surround him._

_"Oh yeah? You think I don't remember his name, Kurt?"_

_Normally Noah would have objected to being spoken about while he was in the room, but this time he kept silent. _

_"Dad…" Kurt mumbled, looking strangely shy, awkwardly embarrassed._

_"You think I don't remember he was the one that damn well _started_ the bullying in the first place?" He glanced over at Noah, daring him to challenge the accusation. Noah didn't. He couldn't. "So thanks a lot, kid, but I think you should go. I need to talk to Kurt alone."_

_"Sure," Noah stood eagerly, desperate to leave the house before Burt pulled a teenage-girl-father tactic and got out the key for the shotgun case. "Thanks for the ice and everything, Kurt." He was too keen to escape Burt Hummel's glare to be discomfited at having called him Kurt again, this time without thought._

_"Noah, don't-"_

_"See you around," he muttered._

_Perhaps Kurt followed him as he hastily showed himself out - he didn't stop or turn around to check. He left the house in as few strides as possible, and it was only once he had stepped out into the breezy afternoon air that he realised he would have to walk, Kurt having driven him from school._

_He cursed, pressing the ice too hard to his tender skin in anger, aggravating the bruises further._

_And perhaps he heard, only for a second or two, the sounds of a resounding argument coming from the Hummel household between father and son. And maybe he felt a twinge of painful regret as he wondered vaguely what it was like to be a teenage boy arguing with his father._

_And maybe, just maybe, he felt good for having done something right for once._

_Not for himself - Kurt would probably never trust him again. But good for Kurt Hummel._

_And he was surprised by how happy it made him when, half way down the street, he realised Kurt had called him Noah._

**RWRWRW**

"Porcelain! In here!"

Kurt, who was in the process of re-stitching a feather that had fallen from one of the girls' tutus, grunted a noncommittal reply.

"NOW!"

"I'm about to go on, Ollie!" Kurt called over his shoulder, straightening up and patting the girl (Issie, a petite woman of twenty five with bottle-black curls and shapely legs) on the behind to let her know he was finished. He glanced at the curtain which separated him from the stage, flexing his fingers in jittery excitement, ready to go…

"Get your ass up here, Porcelain!"

"_I'm about to perform!" _Kurt bellowed back as loudly as he dared, aware that as loud as the band in the main lounge was, he had a voice that could rival it when needed.

"I don't care!" Ollie, the manager of Red Miller's, bellowed back from where he stood between racks of sparkly outfits.

"But-" Kurt began, throwing an expression of longing towards the stage.

"Sammy!" Ollie shouted, and a young man of a similar height to Kurt, after a mutter of impatient swear words, came stumbling into view. He looked eager, wide eyes looking up with adoration towards his employer, whose lips almost twitched into a fond smile.

"Yeah?"

"Go get ready to do _Feeling Good_."

"OLLIE!" Kurt shrieked, and Sammy flinched, turning a guilty eye to the slightly older man. "You can't just- That's so- How dare you-"

"No arguing, Porcelain," Ollie raised a single eyebrow expectantly. "Get your pretty pale ass in here now."

"You can't!" Kurt looked crestfallen, his entire face dropping in disappointment. "It's my favourite in this set!" He glared at Sammy, who looked half-minded, not wanting to disobey Ollie, but too scared to move for fear of Kurt skinning him alive.

"Consider it punishment," Ollie snapped, not replying to Kurt's _For what?_ "Here, now," he said firmly, pointing to his heel as if speaking to a disobedient dog, to which Kurt scowled further, embarrassed and angry at the sniggers he received from his friends, who were watching the spectacle with amused sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Sammy mumbled to his feet. He'd only been working at Red Miller's for a few months, and he was yet to be given any songs that would be regarded as _'his'_ in the way Kurt had. His elation at being given a performance (one he had envied a lot, he admitted to himself with blushing shame) was crushed by the anguished fury Kurt seemed to have taken the denial to perform his favourite song of the night.

"Whatever," Kurt snapped, stalking past him through the backstage channel and down the corridor that led to Ollie Fitzgerald's office.

Ollie Fitzgerald was not a mean employer. Comparatively to the hateful Billy Lemming, whom Kurt harboured violent death wishes for, he was an angel, in both looks and charm. Ollie was rarely seen out of his casual suits, spending every night flitting between socialising with customers and encouraging his performers from open to close, flashing the same warm-hearted smile to all, the creases around his boyishly soft brown eyes the only sign of his post-forty age. He was a tall man, softly built, and had the room presence of a man who would sweep you into his welcoming arms gladly, but would not be against giving you _what for_ if you deserved it. His hair, blond originally but it was darkening with age, was slicked back with perhaps a little too much wax, but it was almost midnight by the time Kurt was called to see him, so a few strands were starting to fall loose from their hold.

Kurt liked Ollie, had liked him from the moment they met, but that didn't stop him from being resentful as he threw himself into a chair in the man's office, pointedly glaring at him, just in case Ollie wasn't fully aware of how upset he was.

"Don't sulk, Kurt. It doesn't suit you."

"You don't suit that haircut," Kurt muttered darkly, and Ollie chuckled a guttered laugh under his breath.

"You're such a child, Kurt," he said, unaffected by Kurt's _Bitch please_ expression. "And that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Lighting a cigarette, not even bothering to offer Kurt one as he had no wish to hear another lecture on the effects of smoking on the lungs and voice, Ollie let out a long, relaxed breath of smoke before continuing.

"You've been bad tempered all night, Kurt. What the hell's wrong with you?" He sounded exasperated, but his expression was closer to concern.

"Nothing," Kurt replied petulantly, disproving his own words with his tone.

"Clearly there is," Ollie raised his eyebrow again. "Is it about the new guy? Georgie said he was your friend…"

The wordless snort he received from Kurt in reply confused him.

"So...you're not friends?" he asked hesitantly. "Isn't…isn't he living with you?"

"Yes, he is," Kurt grumbled reluctantly.

"So he _is_ your friend?"

"I suppose."

"Kurt, if this is how you're going to react to Puck working here," he didn't miss the way Kurt winced at the sentence, and he wondered what he'd said wrong. "…there's not really much I can do."

"What are you going to do? Fire me?" Kurt laughed derisively at the notion.

"No," Ollie sighed, leaning one elbow on his desk. "But I'll have to fire Puck."

"What?" Kurt cried, and for all the hatred he seemed to have about the man working at Red Miller's, he appeared outraged at the thought of letting him go. "You can't do that! That's unfair!"

"Then you'll get over yourself and stop being a bitch?" Ollie questioned in a hard voice.

Kurt paused. Wasn't this exactly what he wanted? To get rid of Noah? Why was he defending his job?

Wetting his lips with a fretting tongue, he exhaled loudly, watching the smoke from his boss' cigarette swirl above them.

"Fine," he whispered to the ceiling, vaguely aware of Ollie's tense posture relaxing at the single word.

"So what you got against the guy?" Ollie asked, tapping some ash into a tray and turning his eyes to a pile of paperwork that he'd been putting off for nearly a week. He sounded genuinely interested, and he was. He cared about all his staff, on a personal level as well as a professional one, and after almost five years he was starting to learn difference between Kurt's bitchy diva-ness and Kurt's defensive bitch act.

Kurt, however, didn't seem to appreciate this.

"We had a falling out, and now he wants back in my life and I don't want him. He won't get the picture."

"Back in…your life?" Ollie hummed thoughtfully, he'd been sure the new kid was straight…

"Not romantically," Kurt frowned, understanding the confusion in the older man's face. "He's a friend."

"I see," Ollie shrugged. "Well keep the domestics domestic, ok? We have enough drama without you and your _friends_."

Kurt smiled sadly. "Sorry Ollie," his brow crinkled with his meek apology.

"I know, kid," Ollie waved a careless hand in understanding. "Sorry about the song. Couldn't think of another way to get your full attention."

"Well you certainly managed," Kurt replied a little frostily. He was still upset at being denied his full stage time.

"You can do an extra number tomorrow to make up for it."

"I have tomorrow night off, Ollie," Kurt replied in a deadened voice.

"Oh, yeah," Ollie said distractedly. "Thursday then…oh!" he looked up from the bank letters he'd been giving the majority of his attention to. "Thursday, you think Susie can come in?"

"Doubtful," Kurt shrugged. "She had Monday off."

"I'll talk to Lemming," Ollie promised. "He'll understand. There's a party have called ahead, last time they were here she was in for a few numbers, and they've requested she make another appearance."

"Billy won't say yes if there's nothing in it for him," Kurt reminded him, as if Ollie hadn't been working with the owner of ATJ his entire career.

"There will be," Ollie replied lightly, revealing nothing. "Just tell her, ok?"

"Yeah sure," Kurt heaved himself out of his seat.

"Go get a drink!" Ollie ordered. "Your performances are over and when I come out there I want to see you at the bar in full, enjoyable conversation with your friend. You understand me?"

"Yessir," Kurt cried in mock heartiness, squeezing the two words together and saluting sarcastically.

Ollie grinned at the gesture, waving his hand to urge the young man out of his office and leave him to his work.

And Kurt, true to his word, slipped out of the side stage, hopping lightly down the steps until he reached the band, nodding his head as a smatter of cheers reached him from a table not too far away. Stopping briefly to thank them, he began his usual saunter across the room, hips swaying to the soft jazz tunes that had taken over after Sammy's (thankfully successful) rendition of _Feeling Good_.

He felt Noah watch him approach, but didn't acknowledge him until he was seated comfortably on a stool, elbow resting on the polished wood and eyes on the rows of booze that lined the bar mirror wall.

"What can I get you?" Noah asked coolly, but his eyes betrayed his confused nerves.

"Surprise me," Kurt winked, and Noah smiled shakily as he began throwing a little of this and that into a shaker, wondering vaguely where he was supposed to refill the ice bucket, but too distracted by his newest customer to really care.

Sliding a glass of something pink and fizzy under Kurt's waiting hand, Noah pulled a stereotypical barman pose, towel thrown over his shoulder, pad and pen clipped to his belt, lounging lazily on his bar as if he'd been born there.

"So," Kurt smiled, leaning forwards into his friend's personal space, lips moist and rosy from one sip of his drink. "Is your favourite singer still Billy Joel?"

Noah's laughter washed over him a wave of homely warmth, and Kurt felt a reluctant gratefulness for his employer as they began to argue playfully over Jewish performers, and how exactly Noah Puckerman would one day fit into this section of the music industry.


	8. Nowhere Man

**Title: Red Windmills**

**Summary: Kurt Hummel has always been good at running away. And Noah? …Noah has always been good at chasing him, to the ends of the earth if he had to.  
>Kurt Hummel left Lima without a goodbye, hoping to forget his shattered life. Performing in a burlesque lounge in Chicago, he's found the secrecy and the spotlight he needs to stay happy. But Noah, his unrelenting best friend whom he left without a shoulder to cry on, refuses to give up on him. He knows just how much more Kurt deserves, and he's determined to show him how much love the world still has to offer him; and maybe find a romance of his own along the way...<strong>

**Pairings: READ NOTE AT BOTTOM**

**Chapter Warnings: character death, language, angsty**

**Sorry for the wait! We just haven't had much time together lately (when we're both sober and in a state to write.) Christmas, eh? No good to anyone *shake heads***

**QUESTION ABOUT PAIRING: We're now stuck as to whether to make this Puckurt and add in a bit of Klaine as a sideline, or Klaine and keep it Puckurt-friendly. What do you think? Would you rather it end up Puckurt or Klaine? Either way, Blaine will feature, it's up to you if he becomes a lasting romance, a little fling, or just a friend…put it in your review, or PM us!**

**Thanks to all reviewers! PLEASE keep them coming!  
><strong>

_**Italics are flashback scenes. This is almost all flashback, because we were bored…next chapter will be mostly flashbacks, too.**_

8. Nowhere Man

_Blink. Fuzzy and blurry and Blink._

_Blink…Blink._

_Slow and painful, like the groan that rumbled quieter than breath in his throat. He'd been fighting his way to consciousness for what felt like days, or perhaps just hours. Maybe a few minutes._

_By the time he'd opened his eyes, the soft womanly gasp that had replied to his twitching muscles had turned into a series of mutters from various voices, dizzying his head, which throbbed with reluctance at being disturbed from an inactive slumber. To his right he could hear the gentle encouragement of an unfamiliar voice telling him to _take it easy_, to _open your eyes_, to _come on now_. To his left he could hear a continuous whimper than fluctuated in volume with the person's erratic breaths. From further away, at his feet - after he'd established he was definitely lying in some sort of bed - racking sobs and soft hushes could be heard._

_He was straining so hard to wake up it was giving him a headache - or maybe he'd had one to begin with, it had been so long since he'd started the awakening process he could barely remember when it had started - and all he wanted was to wake up_

_All he could do was blink wearily, blinded every time his lashes parted for long enough to let artificial light stream through, obnoxiously blue in their off-whiteness._

_Slowly, very slowly, things began coming into focus. He opened his eyes hesitantly with his gaze straight ahead, and the flatness of the pillow beneath his head meant the first thing he saw was a ceiling. Definitely a hospital ceiling, he decided, judging by the sickly colour that was _supposed _to be soothing. And then a face leaned over to peer at him with clinical appraisal._

_The face was unknown to him, glasses perched precariously on a wonky nose, cool blue eyes surveying him with an objective analysis in their shallow depths. The mouth spoke - the same voice that had so gently encouraged him into wakefulness - far too quickly, asked far too many questions, gave too many answers to his unasked questions._

…_confusion to be expected…not sure how much… natural for coma patients…cannot know for sure…for the shock to calm before…_

_He caught snatches of the doctor's words, but he couldn't quite bring himself to listen properly._

_With another blink he tilted his head to the left, his neck muscles screaming in protest, going into a painful spasm that he would have winced at if he'd had the energy to do so. And after another sleepy blink his eyes found another face._

_This_ _face he did recognise._

_All too well, in fact._

_Noah seemed unaware of the noises his throat was making, whines like that of a recently kicked puppy, lips pressing together and opening in a repetitive motion as words reached his mouth but died before they could be voiced. His eyes were rimmed red, bloodshot and puffy…still the same golden corn shade they had always been, but now they glittered with tears that trickled shamelessly down his face._

_Kurt tried to smile, but his trembling lips failed him, only managing to twitch upwards briefly, and Noah was choking on his breaths. Only when he squeezed a little too hard did Kurt realise Noah was holding his hand._

_He wanted to ask Noah what was wrong, why he looked so sad, but like Noah himself, his words failed him. Instead Kurt turned his attention curiously to the end of the bed, where Carole, his darling stepmother, was gasping for breath and leaning into her overly tall son's embrace. Finn's eyes were on him, and Kurt felt the relieved love in his stepbrother's gaze, but like Noah and Carole the gladness looked so melancholy…_

_His throat was dry, and Kurt had to swallow several times and wet his lips before he could vocalise his single syllable question._

_"Dad?"_

_A sob shook Carole's body, and she reached forwards to place a hand on Kurt's leg, cautious, as if her stepson was made of glass._

_Kurt knew what he should have feared in that moment, but self-preservation kept his realisation from being finalised. He turned back to Noah to see the boy leaning over, his forehead pressed against Kurt's hand, which he held in a grasp that was too tight to be simply loving. Noah had grown his mohawk out; his head was covered in a shortly shorn crop of almost curls._

_The doctor had stopped talking to him, it seemed, and was standing beside Carole with a clipboard, which she signed with a shaky hand. The nurse was fussing with Kurt's blankets, not meeting his gaze._

_"When…" Kurt asked without meaning to, and the nurse - pretty and blonde, she reminded him of a kindly Quinn, if such a thing could be imagined - hummed before replying in a mousy voice._

_"You showed signs of consciousness this morning," she smiled sweetly at the teen, smoothing his hair back and continued when she saw him searching with his eyes for a clock, "It's almost three in the afternoon, now. We called your…family," she glanced with almost confusion at Noah's hunched figure as she said the word, "Straight away, they've been waiting for you to wake up properly."_

_"Oh," Kurt whispered. His throat was dry again, as were his eyes, but they were prickling terribly._

_It was getting hard to breathe, the urge to scream for his father's tight embrace growing harder and harder to fight the longer he remained silent._

_He knew, plain and simple. But he was waiting for somebody to say it out loud, because everything was always more real when people said it with words instead of expressions and swift glances._

_"Dad?" he asked again, quieter than the first time. He could feel Noah's breath hot against the pale skin of his hand as the no-longer-mohawked boy mumbled and whimpered._

_"I'm so sorry, Kurt."_

_"D-Dad?" he stammered over the word. The silence was killing him. All eyes were on him, Carole wheezing and patting his leg, Finn humming a wordless explanation under his breath looking uncomfortable and teary eyed, the doctor watching with a pained look of empathy, the nurse trying to wipe a tear from her eye as discreetly as possible; only Noah couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Dad?"_

_"Sweetheart," Carole removed herself from her son's grip to move closer to Kurt, but he flinched as her hand extended to take the arm Noah wasn't clinging to. She, too, flinched, seeing his tiny movement, and Kurt wanted to feel guilty, but her silence was keeping him from any emotion other than panic and agony._

_"D…" the word died in his throat, replaced by a sob._

_"I'm…sweetheart," Carole sat in the seat on Kurt's right, taking his hand before he could move it. Noah still wasn't looking at him, and Finn looked unable to move his body as he stood dumbly at the foot of the bed, or move his eyes as they rested uneasily on Kurt's face_

_"Get _off_ me!" Kurt screamed, his throat aching in protest, and he jerked his hands away from both his best friend and his stepmother, pulling them to his chest as if to clutch at his heart as he felt it cleaving in two, so painful he was surprised the rest of the room couldn't hear it snap; his throat burned and his eyes blurred again, this time with tears, not confusion. He was confused, certainly, but the only thing that mattered in this world was clear to him._

_His father wasn't with him, because his father was dead. He didn't know why, and he didn't understand, but he knew. Burt Hummel was dead._

_And as the word - _that _word - formalised in his mind, it ripped a wail from his lips and echoed in the clean, private hospital room, his agony rebounding back to him from each of the four hateful walls that seemed to close in around him. _

**RWRWRW**

"Ready?"

"No."

"Ready?"

"No."

"Ready?"

"No."

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No."

Kurt laughed as Noah's suddenly eager expression fell, and Susie, proud of her joke, smirked as she continued to fold and pack various clothing items into a large bag.

Noah had been bouncing eagerly - actually _eager _to go to work! - for almost half an hour. It was Thursday, and Susie had, after a less than charming argument with Billy, her manager, agreed to perform as a special occasion at Red Miller's. Noah was yet to hear her sing, and ever since he'd relayed to her his excitement at hearing her, she had been teasing him, going as slowly as possible.

She was excited, too, but there was no need to let Noah know that.

Kurt, on the other hand, recognised her antics well, and observed them with a fond smile as he lounged on Susie's bed, handing her costumes and accessories bit by bit for her to pack. Susie was standing next to her bed as she packed, and Noah was sprawled on the floor by the door, leaning against the frame with the look of a kicked puppy as he sighed with boredom, drumming his fingers on his knees.

Susie winked at Kurt as she shouldered her bag and stalked to the door, looking down at Noah with false impatience.

"Come on then, lazy bones. Hurry up or we're going to be late!" she cried, rolling her eyes and sniggering as Noah scrambled to his feet, tripping over his loose jeans in his haste.

"You're such a dork, Puckerman," Kurt snorted as he brought up the rear of the trio. Noah threw the younger man a grumpy expression, sticking his tongue out childishly, to which Kurt reciprocated with an identical expression.

They had been on a high since Wednesday morning, when Kurt and Noah had returned home in the small hours of the night and proceeded to stay up until Susie's homecoming almost two hours later, exhausted, flushed and sweaty, but happy to see the two of them getting along so well. Noah was still sleeping on the sofa, and they had stuck to 'safe' subjects for the past two days, but it was progress.

Definitely progress.

Noah had smiled and grinned and beamed and laughed and chuckled, purposefully as cheerful as possible in order to hide the thoughts racing through his mind. Kurt seemed to like the _happy go lucky _Noah, not the _serious talk _Noah, and so Noah had been as _happy go lucky _as possible. And to his delight, it was working.

But his throaty laughs were masks behind which his true questions hid. The ones that burned on his lips, desperate to clear the air and just _get it over with_. And Susie seemed to be trying to help him, but Kurt was using every trick in the book to avoid questions relating to his past, his wellbeing, or his future plans.

Noah wondered vaguely how much Susie knew of the truth, and considered idly how much Kurt would hate him for telling her the story in full, if she was to ask for it.

**RWRWRW**

_Kurt had been awake for a week. He was being kept in hospital for observation, even once the necessary scans had been completed - and still he hadn't spoken to anybody but his doctors since his first hour or so of consciousness.._

_Noah sat calmly by his bedside, watching his sleeping face. The first time Kurt had woken up (fro natural sleep, at least) to find him there, he'd kicked up a fuss (metaphorically of course, his limbs were only strengthening slowly after such a long time out of use) until the nurse on call had had to ask the unwanted visitor to leave. Ever since Kurt had simply blinked once, then closed his eyes and ignored him until he gave up - which was usually not until visiting hours were over._

_Carole would drop in whenever she was free, to a similar reception, and Finn had tried his best, but Kurt's silent treatment was killing him, and had visited less often after the first three days._

_Noah, on the other hand, was only spurred further on by Kurt's reluctance to communicate. He had made it his mission to get through to Kurt, and had finally been struck by a brainwave._

_So it was, seven days after Kurt Hummel had awoken from his seemingly endless slumber, Noah brought his guitar into the hospital. He didn't know if he was allowed to use it, but nobody had stopped him on his way in, so he'd guessed it was fine. He sat in his usual spot, leaning back comfortably with the body of his beloved instrument resting in his lap as he strummed away at songs written by The Beatles, humming rather than singing, because he wasn't sure how long he would have been able to last before he cracked if he was so sing the actual lyrics._

_Kurt had slept on, and it was getting late. Noah was fairly certain the nurses had forgotten to come in and move him along, but he wasn't going to say anything. If their forgetfulness meant an extra few minutes with Kurt, he was fine to let them forget as much as they liked._

_And finally, after over two painstaking hours of finger throbbing, throat clenching songs, Kurt's eyelids fluttered, the same erratic motion they had done the week before, when he'd first come back to the world of the living._

_Noah didn't speak, afraid to break the fragile moment between the two, one boy playing and the other not protesting. Kurt glanced over at Noah, a dark tinge in his cheeks as he accidentally caught his friend's eye. He knotted his fingers together awkwardly, staring at his clasped hands and breathing slowly. Noah continued his song - Nowhere Man, one of their favourites - until it came to its conclusion, just the same as the others, but rather than start a new one he hugged his guitar a little tighter, staring at Kurt with sad eyes._

_Kurt looked smaller than ever beneath the white hospital sheets, bones brittle and skin sallow. His boyish looks were lost, replaced by a haunted hunger that never seemed to leave his eyes, which looked bruised with bags that hung a purplish hue around his lower lids._

_"Hey," Noah's voice croaked, and he half expected a waspish snap of a reply. Instead Kurt looked up at him with a stoical gaze, expressionless and cold._

_Noah had no idea what questions the doctors had asked Kurt in their examinations, or what Kurt had told them, and it made his will to investigate for himself even greater. Plucking at his meagre courage, he wetted his lips with a fast tongue._

_"Do you…what do you remember?"_

_Kurt seemed to flinch at the question, but only slightly, and he blushed a darker shade of red in the low light._

_"Everything," he mumbled through barely moving lips._

_Noah felt his shoulders slump; he hadn't even realised they were so tense to begin with, muscles taught and twisted from his stiff hold of his instrument, clutched with cold fingers._

_He'd often dreamed up _Kurt's Wake Up Speech _in his head, sitting by the boy's bed night after night, waiting for him to wake up. But it was entirely forgotten as he looked into those molten eyes, emotion hidden behind the constant glaze of tears that were always threatening to fall._

_"Where's he buried?"_

_The question seemed to hang poisonous in the air._

_"Who's…" Noah began, because of course, there had been more than one funeral surrounding the ordeal, but he knew Kurt would only mean one person, and the boy didn't have to reply to Noah's ridiculous question. "Next to your mom."_

_He was worried that would be enough to send him - either of them - over the edge, but both remained strong, looking each other directly in the eye._

_"We sang," he said abruptly. He wasn't sure why he was saying it, why he thought it would help, but his mouth wanted to talk and no matter what his brain was telling him, he couldn't bring himself to shut up. "At his funeral. Glee club."_

_"Rachel?" Kurt asked in a cracked tone, a pained smile pulling at his lips, and Noah had to admire the boy's bravery, their quiet joke at their fellow glee clubber's ego feeling so natural in such an unnatural situation. _

_"Finn," Noah corrected him softly. "And…and me. And Mercedes."_

_The Adam's apple in Kurt's throat seemed to be unable to settle as he swallowed and choked on air a few times, clearly bursting as he tried to contain the emotion that welled up inside, spilling like the tears that leaked between his lashes._

_"Brit wore yellow," he said, and the smile Noah pulled onto his face was all that kept him from crying along with the boy, who gasped a lonely sob of what could only be painful delight at the news. "She said she wanted to spare your…him the sadness of all the black suits."_

_Kurt hummed his agreement, nodding and squeezing his eyes shut as he spoke in little more than a whisper. "She's right."_

_This pleased him, despite his surprise - that Brittany wore sunshine clothes to his father's funeral, and not the drab black dresses all the other women no doubt wore. He was starting to doubt his ribcage was strong enough to hold the heaviness surrounding his heart whenever he thought of it, but this made the task a little easier on him, closing his eyes and imagining sweet Brittany S. Pierce, a ray of sun on _that _day._

_"I prayed for you."_

_The statement shocked them both - Noah hadn't meant to say it out loud, if his expression was anything to go by._

_"I mean…Rachel tried to sing and shit. _To _you and stuff, and I made her go away every time. But when I went to Temple with my Nan, I prayed for you." Noah bowed his head, resting his cheek on his guitar neck. "I'm sorry."_

_"No," Kurt hiccupped, stuck between wanting to throw something at the boy and wanting to grab hold of him and never let go. "Don't be."_

_Their eyes caught for a moment longer before it became too much for either party to bear. Kurt sank lower into his pillows, pressing a wet cheek to the coarse sheets to dry his skin roughly; Noah coughed, standing up to brush imaginary dust from his jeans._

_Kurt had closed his eyes again, mouth clamped tightly shut, no doubt holding back the scream of rage that would probably never leave him. Not any time soon, at least._

_And because Kurt wasn't looking, Noah found the courage to do something he hadn't even been able to do when the boy was in a coma. Leaning over, his pressed his lips to Kurt's temple, resting his mouth at his hairline for only a moment, murmured so gentle it was like the crooning of a song._

_"I love you, Kurt."_

_He didn't look back as he walked away, and he never found out whether or not Kurt had watched him leave, or whether Kurt really had shivered at his confession, or if it was simply his imagination._

**RWRWRW**

Noah wanted to mock Susie for her utterly clichéd music choices, but he found himself incapable of phrasing such negativities.

He wanted to laugh at her for including at least three numbers from the musical trash _Burlesque_, but her voice was just far too Christina Aguilera to even consider criticising. He wanted to roll his eyes at the Moulin Rouge mimics, but she was way too _Can-Can_ for that.

He wanted to ignore it, but he couldn't deny the glow of admiration he felt as her vocals shredded the audience, sending them into a frenzy of appreciation, her body ripples and twirls taunting them with just enough arrogance to suit the stage. And he certainly couldn't ignore the discomfort of how tight his underwear suddenly felt as he shuffled around behind the bar, sneaking glances at the stage and forcing his eyes away from those legs that went all the way to Canada.

After her set she didn't even bother to get changed. Red locks knotted with sweat and glitter spray, she leapt to the main floor and began embracing her adoring fans with blown kisses and sharp high fives. Her hips were swaying and her mouth grinning widely enough for Noah to count all her teeth as she made her way little by little towards him. With such a popular performance selection going on, people weren't spending as much time at the bar, instead clamouring to get closer to the lines of dancers.

Noah took advantage of this, opting to take his break early, and he settled on a spare seat at the far end of the bar, where it was a little quieter. Susie joined him swiftly, gliding gracefully onto a stool.

He opened his mouth to compliment her, say something, anything, but his words stuck in his throat at the surprising glint in her eyes. He took in the blazing colours of her irises, the starry grey and the shiny green, and he saw a seriousness that did not match the Hollywood smile she had granted her applauding audience.

"Kurt's on until midnight now," she said coolly, flicking her hair over her shoulders and sprinkling that goddamn glitter all over the place. Noah ignored it, not even bothering to look up at the stage.

He wondered at the intensity of her stare.

"You want me to help you get him to trust you again."

It was a statement, not a question, but Noah answered anyway with throaty _Yes_ of blessed relief.

"You going to tell me what happened?"

It was abrupt, blunt, and though he hadn't known her long Noah could tell it was just such a _Susie _thing to say. Every bone in his body still loyal to Kurt - all two hundred and six of them - told him to refuse, that there were other ways to get Susie on his side than to spill the past Kurt kept so tightly locked inside himself.

But her face was open and pleading, painful concern in her frown and desperate trust in her parted lips. She had wondered and waited and worried for years - for almost as long as Noah had been waiting to find his best friend.

He understood her frustration, wanting to help someone who simply won't let her understand. He knew that feeling.

And for that reason, and that reason alone, he nodded slowly, licking his lips in preparation of the tale.

And he told her the truth of Kurt Hummel's final year in Lima, Ohio. All of it.


End file.
